


the sound of minchan

by straythoughts (HiraethSatisfied)



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - The Sound of Music Fusion, Cute Kids, Family Feels, Fluff and Humor, Inspired by The Sound of Music, Light Angst, M/M, Meddling Kids, Mentioned Choi Yeonjun, Single Parents, The Sound of Music References, Uncle Kim Seokjin | Jin, Well - Freeform, baroness!seonghwa, basically a ripoff, liesl!changbin, maria!chan, parent, rest of skz are kids, von trapp!minho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-05
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-16 16:41:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29210532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HiraethSatisfied/pseuds/straythoughts
Summary: Chan is a slightly wayward postulant at an Austrian monastery who goes to care for the six children of a widowed naval captain, and brings a new love of life and music into their home and hearts.
Relationships: Bang Chan/Lee Minho | Lee Know
Comments: 20
Kudos: 54





	the sound of minchan

**Author's Note:**

  * For [UpsideofCrazy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/UpsideofCrazy/gifts).



> So. I finished this in what, three or four days? Feverishly went through the movie day and night word for word until the wedding scene (cut out the WWII bits) because my brain is still rotting from this. This is a bit early for a present but hope Amanda enjoys anyway.

The hills are alive with the sound of music. 

Chan can feel it, in the way the breeze skims across his outstretched arms, the gentle caress of it as it leaps and twirls and eddies toward the distant mountains. He can feel it in the whispered rustle of the grass beneath his feet, the sunlight bobbing and weaving as it dances around him, the warmth seeping into his bones and bubbling up through his lungs. 

He wants to sing. 

And out here, who is there to stop him? No dull monastery walls and no strict rules and regulations to trip over constantly. He loves the monastery, sure, but he can never understand why they don’t allow singing within the compound when it’s something that brings so much joy, at least to him. 

But enough of that, now. He’s outside, among the hills, at one with the universe, and he’s going to sing. Twirling a little with his arms still spread, he opens his mouth, fills his lungs with air, and lets out the first note. 

_The hills are alive with the sound of music_

_With songs they have sung for a thousand years_

_The hills fill my heart with the sound of music_

_My heart wants to sing every song it hears_

Reaching out, Chan touches the bark of a birch tree, the first one in a small grove as he wanders through them. Peace settles over his heart at the small contact, the rough edges under his fingertips and palms as he swings around them, letting gravity do the work.

_My heart wants to beat like the wings of the birds_

_That rise from the lake to the trees_

_My heart wants to sigh like a chime that flies_

_From a church on a breeze_

He stops at the edge of a small stream, picking up a few rocks and tossing them into the water, trying to skip them across the surface but utterly failing. No matter, it’s something to laugh at, and he steps onto a rock in the middle of the water, hopping across. 

_To laugh like a brook when it trips and falls over_

_Stones on its way_

_To sing through the night_

_like a lark who is learning to pray_

Feeling the rush of adrenaline and joy surge anew, he runs past the stream and into an open patch of grass near the downward slope of the hill, reveling in the vast openness before him again. He slows a little, but the smile on his face never fades even as his hands drop to his sides and the subtle pangs that have been plaguing him for a while spike in his chest.

_I go to the hills when my heart is lonely_

_I know I will hear what I've heard before_

_My heart will be blessed with the sound of music_

_And I'll sing once more_

Instead of the calm settling over him with the gentle pause at the end of his song, there are bells in the distance, an all-too-familiar sound that calls the Brothers to afternoon worship. 

Panic seizes at Chan, and he grips at his hair before taking off, sprinting before he fully registers he’s in motion. But at the last second, he remembers the cord he’d loosened around his habit and left on the ground, sprinting back to snatch it up before fleeing toward the monastery again. 

* * *

He’s late. Again.

As Chan dashes through the halls, he can almost hear the hushed whispers that will greet him when he tumbles into the main chapel. He makes a beeline for the water pump in one of the courtyards, pumps it once to get barely enough water to splash on his face, then tries to dash back out of the courtyard on his way to mass when he hurtles to a stop.

He looks back, only to find the faces of some of the Brothers staring back at him, the Abbott at the front. 

Well then. 

Sighing, Chan drops his shoulders and gives up, slowing his pace to a walk as he travels the rest of the way to worship.

* * *

The Abbott himself had called for Chan, so he stands outside the Abbott’s office, waiting to be let in. 

“You can go in now,” a Brother says as he claps Chan gently on the shoulder. 

Chan smiles and nods before stepping through the doorway. The Abbott is sitting at his imposing mahogany desk, and Chan pauses, shutting the door behind him softly. 

“Come here, my child,” the Abbott says kindly, and Chan takes the invitation, going over to kiss his hand and bow deeply. “Now sit down.”

Taking that as permission to speak, Chan hurries around the desk, exclaiming, “Oh, Father Abbott, I’m so sorry. I just couldn’t help myself.” He barrels on, trying to get all of his words out at once. “The gates were open and the hills were beckoning and before I knew it—”

“Chan,” the Abbott interrupts gently. “I didn’t summon you here for apologies.” 

But Chan is not to be deterred. “Oh please, Father Abbott, do let me ask for forgiveness.”

A pause as the Abbott looks at him. “If it would make you feel better.” He sounds amused. 

“Yes,” Chan starts awkwardly. “Well you see, the sky was so blue today, and everything was so green and fragrant, I just _had_ to be a part of it. And nature just beckoned me further and higher and higher as if asking me to go right through the clouds with it.” 

The Abbott looks apprehensive now. “Child, suppose darkness had come and you were lost?” 

Chan shakes his head, a small smile springing unbidden to his face. “Father, I could never be lost up there. That’s my mountain, I was brought up on it. It was the mountain that led me to you.” 

“Oh?” The Abbott blinks and tilts his head, more curious now.

Holding his gaze, Chan says, “When I was a child, I would come down the mountain and climb a tree and look over into your garden. I’d see the Brothers at work and hear them sing.” Something niggles at the back of his brain, and he looks down guiltily. “Which… brings me to another transgression, Father Abbott. I was singing out there today without permission.” 

“Chan,” the Abbott chuckles, “it’s only here in the monastery that we have rules about postulants singing.”

“But that’s just it,” Chan says mournfully. “I just can’t seem to stop singing wherever I am. And what’s worse is that I can’t seem to stop saying things, anything and everything I think and feel…”

He trails off as the Abbott gives him a knowing look. “Some people would call that honesty.” 

“But it’s terrible, Father Abbott!” Chan clasps his hands together in his lap and leans forward in his chair. “Brother Bertram always makes me kiss the floor after we’ve had a disagreement, right? Well, I’ve started kissing the floor whenever I see him coming just to save time.” 

The Abbott looks down at his hands, folded neatly on the surface of the desk, and shifts in that way that means he’s about to say something that Chan isn’t going to like. 

“Chan… When you saw us over the monastery wall and longed to be one of us, that didn’t necessarily mean you would be prepared for the way we live here, did it?” 

Chan’s heart sinks. “No, Father… But I pray and I try and I _am_ learning, I really am.” Anxiety thunders in his chest, as if it knows what’s about to happen. 

“What is the most important lesson you have learned here, my child?” 

“To find out what is the will of God,” Chan tries, “and to do it wholeheartedly.”

There’s a pregnant pause as the Abbott swallows, clasps and unclasps his hands, and finally stands from the desk. 

“Chan, it seems to be the will of God that you leave us.”

And there it is. “Leave?” Chan asks, voice a strangled yelp. 

“Only for a while,” the Abbott interjects.

“Father, please don’t do that. Please don’t send me away.” Chan feels as though he’s being shattered into a million pieces even as he stands to face the Abbott on shaky legs. His entire life is here at the monastery now. “This is where I belong! It’s my home, my family.” He tries to square his shoulders, look the Abbott in the eye. “It’s my life.” 

The Abbott doesn’t look convinced. “And are you truly ready—”

“Yes I am,” Chan says desperately. 

“Perhaps…” The Abbott turns aside, his face somber. “If you go out into the world for a time, knowing what we expect of you, you will have a chance to find out if you can expect it of yourself.” 

He’s barely finished speaking before Chan cries, “I know what you expect, Father, and I can do it, I promise I can!” He’s seconds away from sinking to his knees to beg. 

“Chan…” The Abbott sounds so wistful. Chan hates everything about it, but he knows when to accept defeat. 

“Yes, Father,” he says, barely above a whisper. He moves back to sink into the chair again. “If it is God’s will.” 

Thankfully, the Abbott doesn’t respond to that. “There is a family near Salzburg that needs someone to look after their children until September.”

“September?” Chan asks weakly. 

“There are six children—”

_“Six children?!”_

The Abbott fixes him with a sharp look. “You like children, Chan.”

Chan blinks and looks around. “Well yes, but I— _six!”_

Reaching for his fountain pen with an air of finality, the Abbott starts to write a letter. “I will tell Captain Lee to expect you tomorrow.” 

“Er…” Chan is at a loss for words. “Captain?” 

“A retired officer of the Imperial Navy,” the Abbott says in a tone that brooks no argument. “A fine man and a brave one. His wife died several years ago, leaving him with the children, and I understand he’s had a most difficult time trying to keep a governess there.”

Nervously, Chan pushes back a stray lock of hair. “Uh, why difficult, Father Abbott?”

“The Lord will show you in his own good time,” is all the Abbott says, ominous and not very helpful. 

Chan is liking this whole thing less and less. 

* * *

Chan leaves the monastery early the next morning with only a small bag of belongings, his guitar, and a truly horrendous traveling outfit. There’s hardly anyone around to see him off, but he supposes he prefers it that way. If anyone had verbally told him goodbye, that would make all of this more real and much more painful. 

He turns one last time to place his hand on the gates to the outside world, looks up at the bell in the steeple. There’s so many wonderful memories he associates with the place, even though he’s broken far too many rules for the Brothers not to be disappointed with him constantly, and there’s a sharp pain in his chest as he finally turns away and faces the road. 

“When the Lord closes a door,” he reminds himself, “somewhere he opens a window.”

There’s a song bubbling up out of him, he can feel it. Singing has always been a comfort, so he lets himself slip into song, trying to ease the feeling of numbness. 

_What will this day be like?_

_I wonder_

_What will my future be?_

_I wonder_

Slowly, he takes the first step forward, moving out into the main walkway outside the monastery. Thoughts swirl in his head, a constant battle of fear and curiosity and excitement turning his stomach nauseatingly.

_It could be so exciting_

_To be out in the world_

_To be free_

_My heart should be wildly rejoicing_

_Oh, what's the matter with me?_

Turning, he starts down the walkway out to some of the main roadways, trying to find the plaza the Abbott had directed him to. He’s been outside the monastery before, of course, but everything feels new and strange when he’s not going back for the foreseeable future.

_I've always longed for adventure_

_To do the things I've never dared_

_Now here I'm facing adventure_

_Then why am I so scared?_

He stops, because singing it out loud had only confirmed what he’d been trying to deny. Slowly, he tells himself, “A captain with six children. What's so fearsome about that?”

Shaking his head, he starts again on his journey, one foot in front of the other and resolve hardening. 

_Oh, I must stop these doubts_

_All these worries_

_If I don't I just know I'll turn back_

_I must dream of the things I am seeking_

_I am seeking the courage I lack_

_The courage to serve them with reliance_

_Face my mistakes without defiance_

_Show them I'm worthy_

_And while I show them_

_I'll show me_

That’s right, Chan realizes. 

If he can prove to himself that he’s going to be the best caretaker for those children that he can be, then their opinion of him doesn’t even matter. Chan is nothing if not determined, and he just has to pull out something deep within himself. 

Slowly, a grin forms on his face, and he hefts his guitar case and bag with renewed vigor, making his way toward the fountain he can already see at one end of the square.

_So let them bring on all their problems_

_I'll do better than my best_

_I have confidence_

_They'll put me to the test_

_But I'll make them see_

_I have confidence in me_

_Somehow I will impress them_

_I will be firm, but kind_

_And all those children_

_Heaven bless them_

_They will look up to me_

_And mind me_

_With each step I am more certain_

_Everything will turn out fine_

_I have confidence_

_The world can all be mine_

_They'll have to agree_

_I have confidence in me_

He boards the bus, still singing to himself, but the stares he gets are well worth it with the excitement bubbling up. The countryside flashes by as he rests his elbow on the open windowsill, and he lets the words pour from his lungs into the warm sunshine. 

_I have confidence in sunshine_

_I have confidence in rain_

_I have confidence that spring will come again_

_Besides, which you see_

_I have confidence in me_

_Strength doesn't lie in numbers_

_Strength doesn't lie in wealth_

_Strength lies in nights of peaceful slumbers_

_When you wake up_

_Wake up!_

_It's healthy_

As he gets down from the bus, he waves wildly at the retreating vehicle and turns down the avenue along the wall to the Lee property, dancing a little as he kicks his feet together and knocks his bags against his knees. 

_All I trust I leave my heart to_

_All I trust becomes my own_

_I have confidence in confidence alone_

Abruptly, he stops in front of the gates and looks up at the property, a gigantic sprawling mansion with a beautiful fountain in the center of the circular driveway. 

“Oh, help,” he says softly. 

As he sings the last few lines, he unlatches and opens the gate, slipping through. 

_I have confidence in confidence alone_

_Besides, which you see_

_I have confidence in me_

With the last long, drawn out high note, he sprints full tilt toward the front door, and collapses against it as he rings the doorbell. 

Well, there’s no going back now. 

After a moment or two, the door opens and Chan scrambles upright to be greeted by an unimpressed and slightly disgruntled-looking man in a uniform. 

“Hello!” Chan says brightly, straightening to his full height. “Here I am!” 

The man blinks at him. 

“I’m from the monastery, I’m the new stand-in for governess, Captain,” Chan explains in a rush. 

The corner of the man’s lips quirk, but Chan can’t be sure. “And I’m the old butler.”

The breath rushes out of Chan’s body in an instant. “Oh,” he says, deflating, then realizes that must be rude. “Well, how do you do,” he tacks on, grabbing the butler’s hand and shaking it for much too long. 

The butler stares down at their hands with something like mild distaste until Chan slowly drops it and opts to pick up his bags instead. The pinched expression smooths out into something neutral again as he leads Chan inside the house. 

Chan nearly waltzes through the front entryway until he stops short. There’s a small set of stairs into the foyer between two larger staircases leading upstairs to balconies overlooking the first floor, held up by columns. It’s the most grand place he’s ever been in, and he has a sneaking suspicion that this is only a small part of the house. 

“Wait here, please,” the butler says, and disappears down a hallway. 

Chan tries to wait, he really does. But curiosity gnaws at him until he finally gives in, putting down his things and moving in awestruck silence into the foyer. He drifts toward one of the doors along the right side and peeks in, finding a ballroom. A whole _ballroom_. 

Gingerly, he pushes the door all the way open and steps in, marveling at the gold-gilded paintings and walls. Feeling a sudden urge strike him, he pretends to bow to an imaginary partner and accepts their hand in a dance, then takes a step or two. He doesn’t know how to waltz, or at least not properly, but it’s fun to imagine what a party would be like in this grand ballroom, everyone dressed to the nines and tinkling laughter and champagne flowing. 

The door slams open. 

In the doorway stands a man, not the butler this time, in a crisp and flattering suit. He holds an air of power and confidence, back ramrod straight and a regal air about him. The lines of his face are sharp and angular, with prominent cheekbones and an intelligent, piercing gaze. His hair is styled with an uneven part, bangs carefully framing his forehead, and well. He’s _very_ attractive. 

But his jaw is set as though his teeth are grinding together, and his lips are pressed into a thin line. He looks angry, and Chan’s skin crawls a little. 

There’s no doubt that this is Captain Minho Lee. 

Chan smooths his hands down his coat as the man moves to the side, not even needing words to send Chan scurrying past him and back into the foyer, eyes on him the whole time. 

“In the future, you will kindly remember that there are certain rooms in this house which are not to be disturbed.” In better lighting, the man’s eyes are even more intense, boring into Chan. 

Letting out a long breath, Chan says, “Yes, Captain.”

The captain barely spares him a glance before closing the doors to the ballroom, but finally gives Chan his full attention when he turns back around. 

“And why do you stare at me like that?” he asks sharply. 

Chan shrugs, something unnameable building in him. “You don’t look at all like a sea captain.” 

The captain blinks in confusion, but it’s kind of true. For one, he seems rather young, maybe even around Chan’s age. His expression shifts, his eyebrows raising as he appraises Chan. 

“Well, you don’t look very much like a tutor or au pair.” His eyes narrow. “Turn.”

“What?” 

“Turn,” the captain says, more firmly, twirling his finger in a circle. 

Chan hesitantly turns all the way around so that he’s facing the captain again. 

“Hat off.”

Gingerly, Chan removes his hat. 

The captain sucks in a long breath. “It’s the clothes. You’ll have to put on something else before you meet the children.” 

“But I don’t have any other ones,” Chan protests. “When we enter the monastery, our worldly possessions are given to the poor.” 

The captain’s eyebrows stay raised. “And what about these?” 

Chan looks down, suddenly self-conscious. “Well, the poor didn’t want these.” 

A noncommittal hum is all he gets in response, so he continues. 

“Well, I would’ve made myself a new set of clothes but there wasn’t time. I can make my own clothes.” For some reason, he finds himself wanting the approval of this man he’s barely met.

“I’ll see to it that you get some material, then,” the captain says, and it’s only then that Chan realizes he hasn’t seen the other man smile at all. “Today, if possible.” 

The captain moves out toward the center of the foyer, closer to Chan but pacing back and forth, not meeting his eyes. 

“Now, er…” He snaps his fingers. 

“Chan,” Chan supplies. 

“Chan,” Minho repeats. “I don’t know how much the Father Abbott has told you—”

“Not much.”

“—but you are the twelfth in a long line of people who have stood in the governess role for my children since their mother died.” He’s cold and matter-of-fact about every word, clipped and precise. “I trust that you will be an improvement on the last one. She stayed only two hours.” 

Chan blanches. “What’s wrong with the children, Captain?” 

The captain pauses in his steps, turns. That piercing gaze is back on Chan and he doesn’t know how to feel about it. 

“Nothing’s wrong with the children,” the captain says, looking Chan up and down. “Only the caretakers.” 

Chan has nothing to say to that. 

“They were completely unable to maintain discipline,” the captain continues, “and without it, this house cannot be properly run. Will you please remember that, Chan?” 

It’s not a question. “Yes, sir,” Chan says meekly. 

By this time, the captain has made a large circle around Chan and comes to a stop in his original spot before moving past it, his back to Chan. “Every morning, you will drill the children in their studies. I will not permit them to dream away their summer holidays. Each afternoon, they will march about the grounds, breathing deeply. Bedtime is to be strictly observed, no exceptions—”

“Excuse me, sir,” Chan interrupts, growing increasingly concerned. “When do they play?” 

“You will see to it that they conduct themselves at all times with the utmost orderliness and decorum. I am placing you in command.” He doesn’t turn around, but the movement of his arm suggests he’s taking something out of his pocket. 

Well, that’s not much of an answer. “Yes, sir,” Chan says, saluting for effect. 

The man fixes him with an unreadable look, brows pinching together. Chan simply tilts his head in answer. 

Captain Lee brings the thing from his pocket up to his lips, and Chan can only tell it’s a whistle when he blows into it, loud and piercing and long. 

Chan is, once again, at a loss for words. 

As Captain Lee returns his stare and blows the whistle one more time, there’s a thundering from upstairs, and the sound of running feet. 

Chan scrambles to one side of Captain Lee, bracing his hands on a small dresser as children of various sizes scramble out onto the balcony into a single line, backs straight. Silently, he counts them. One, two, three, four, five…

The captain whistles again, short this time, then in a pattern. The children, like automatons, turn in perfect sync, starting to march to the beat of the whistle, down the stairs and in front of them in a line until the captain gives a short interrupting pattern to get them to stop. The children all stare straight ahead, and Chan can only feel that this is all so wrong.

Another child appears across from them, a book in hand that they can’t seem to put down. Slowly, he peers over the edge of it, finally noticing the captain and Chan. 

Captain Lee walks over, holding out his hand, and the child passes the book to him before turning around. The captain uses it to smack his bottom lightly and the child steps into line, standing just as ramrod straight as the rest. Moving down the line, the captain adjusts another child’s collar before he finishes back at Chan and turns. 

“Now,” he says, and Chan’s starting to wonder if everything he says has to sound like an order. “This is your new caretaker, Chan. As I sound your signal, you will step forward and give your name. Chan, you will listen carefully so that you can learn their signals for when you want them.” He puts the whistle to his lips again and gives three short blasts. 

The first and seemingly oldest child takes two steps forward smartly. “Changbin.” He steps back into line just as quickly as he’d come, and the captain sounds the next signal. 

“Hyunjin,” the next child says, stepping forward and back in the same way. 

“Jisung.” 

“Felix.”

“Seungmin.” 

As the last signal sounds, the smallest child doesn’t move. But when the whistle sounds more insistently, he steps forward and back, silent. 

Captain Lee turns to Chan, giving him a tight and pained grimace. “Jeongin,” he explains. He clears his throat, then reaches into his pocket for another whistle, holding it out to Chan. 

“Let’s see how well you listened.” 

Chan frowns. “Oh, I—I won’t need to whistle for them, Captain, I’ll just use their names. And such lovely names, too.” 

“This is a large house and the grounds are quite extensive,” Captain Lee says, clearly trying to sound patient. “I will not have anyone shouting.” He punctuates every word by leaning his head forward. “You will take this please and learn to use it. The children will help you.” 

He shakes the whistle a little, and Chan takes it reluctantly, looking down. 

“Now, when I want you, this is what you will hear.” He raises the whistle again and emits a series of alternating high-pitched sounds, but Chan has had enough. 

“I don’t—I’m sorry, sir!” 

The captain stops, lowering the whistle. 

“I could never answer to a whistle,” Chan says, sure that his horror is showing on his face. “Whistles are for dogs and cats and other animals but not for children and definitely not for me.” He pauses. “It would be too… humiliating.” 

Captain Lee is silent. He looks at Chan with his eyes narrowed and lips flattened into a thin line again, and asks, “Were you this much trouble at the monastery?”

“Oh, much more, sir,” Chan assures him earnestly. 

“Hm.” The captain nods, then seems to come to some sort of conclusion, because he turns and walks toward the opposite side of the foyer, a clear dismissal. 

But Chan isn’t done yet. He finds the stubborn edge inside him and lifts the whistle to his lips, emitting a long blast of noise. 

The captain stops. Turns slowly. 

Chan fears for his life. 

“Excuse me sir, I don’t know your signal.” 

Captain Lee’s gaze is scathing. “You may call me ‘Captain.’”

With another searching look, he turns and leaves the room. 

Chan allows himself a bit of a satisfied smirk before he realizes that the children are still present, laughing a little amongst themselves and failing to be quiet. When Chan steps forward to face them, however, they snap back to attention. 

“At ease,” he tries awkwardly, and the children step out sideways simultaneously, hands folded behind their backs. 

He’s glad that the captain isn’t here to make them feel more stiff and uncomfortable. He’s got to do something about this whole whistle and orders thing. “Well,” he starts. “Now that it’s just us, would you please tell me your names again? And how old you are.” He gestures toward the oldest child invitingly. 

The child steps forward in the same way he had before, neat and precise. “I’m Changbin. I’m sixteen years old and I don’t need someone to constantly watch over me.” 

Chan smiles a little. “Well, I’m glad you told me that, Changbin. We’ll just be good friends.” He gestures to the next child when Changbin steps back into line. 

“I’m Hyunjin. I’m fourteen, and I’m impossible.” He steps back.

“Really?” Chan laughs. “Who told you that, Hyunjin?” 

“Fraulein Josephine, four governesses ago,” Hyunjin answers promptly and without remorse. 

The next child steps forward and says, “I’m Seungmin,” then steps back in line. 

Ah, so it’s going to be that way. Chan fingers at his hat as he steps forward a little. “You, um, didn’t tell me how old you are, Jisung.” 

The child two down the line from Jisung steps forward. “I’m Seungmin, he’s Jisung. He’s thirteen years old, and you’re smart. I’m ten, and I think your clothes are the ugliest thing I ever saw.” 

Smartly, he steps back into line as the one between Jisung and Seungmin turns to the latter and says, “Seungmin, you shouldn’t say that!” 

“Why not?” Seungmin retorts as Chan looks down at his own clothes. “Don’t you think they’re ugly?” 

“Of course,” Felix says. “But Fraulein Helga’s were ugliest.” He steps forward. “I’m Felix, I’m eleven, I’m incorrigible.” 

Chan can forgive the clothing comment for that. “Congratulations,” he chuckles, moving further down the line. 

“What’s incorrigible?” Felix asks as an afterthought. 

Turning, Chan gives him a gentle smile. “I think it means you want to be treated like a boy.” 

Felix gives him a smile in return and a firm nod, which Chan takes as a win. 

There’s a tug on the hem of his sleeve, and he looks down to find the last child, who crosses his arms and stomps his foot. 

“Yes, you’re Jeongin,” he says, leaning down a little. Jeongin smiles, showing one tooth growing in, and holds up five fingers. “And you’re five years old?”

When Jeongin nods happily, Chan says, “My, you’re practically a grownup.” 

Jeongin giggles behind his hands, and then finally, shyly, speaks up. “I’m gonna be six soon, and I want a pink parasol.” 

“Pink’s my favorite color too,” Chan tells him, choosing not to mention his previously monochrome wardrobe. At least Jeongin has taken a shine to him, at least. Now for the rest of the children. 

“I have to tell you a secret,” Chan tells them, moving back to the center of the room. “I’ve never filled in for a governess before.” 

The children look at each other, and Chan feels that fear again as mischievous smiles grace their innocent little faces. 

“You mean you don’t know anything about it?” Jisung asks slowly. 

“Nothing,” Chan readily admits, spreading his hands. “I’ll need lots of advice.” 

Slowly, the children move forward, crowding in around Chan. “Well,” Jisung starts. “The best way to start is to be sure to tell Father to mind his own business.” 

“You must never come to dinner on time,” Hyunjin leers, leaning in closer. 

“Never eat your soup quietly,” Seungmin says, punctuated by a loud slurping noise from Hyunjin as he moves along Chan’s shoulders. 

“And during dessert, always blow your nose,” Felix grins. Chan is already wondering how long he’ll last in this house. 

Thankfully, it’s Jeongin who comes to his rescue, just as Hyunjin moves to fake a bite at Chan’s ear. “Don’t you believe a word they say, Chan!” 

“Why not?” he asks Jeongin, shielding his head with his arm. 

“Because I like you,” Jeongin says firmly. 

There’s a clapping sound as someone enters the foyer. “Alright now, children, outside for your walk. Father’s orders, now hurry up.” An older man bustles in, shooing the children away from Chan and toward the front door. 

Chan sags in relief as they turn in a group, albeit reluctantly. 

“Chan, I’m Herr Younghyun Kang, the housekeeper,” he tells Chan.

“How do you do,” Chan returns politely, which is echoed by the other. 

“I’ll show you to your room, follow me,” Younghyun says kindly, and turns toward Chan’s belongings. He takes the bag, leaving Chan to pick up his guitar and start up the staircase after him as the children look back at him from the doorway. 

“Poor little dears,” Chan murmurs. 

Something wriggles in his pocket, and he screams, reaching in to find something squishy and slimy and flinging it away with a gasp. The frog ribbits once on the floor, then hops out the open doorway. 

“You’re very lucky,” Younghyun tells him seriously. “With Fraulein Helga, it was a snake.”

Chan collapses against the railing as the children give him long looks and finally troop out the door. 

* * *

Later that night, Chan stumbles into the dining room to find seven faces staring back at him. 

With as much poise and grace as he can muster, he rounds the table to the far end to sit at the only empty chair, directly opposite the captain. 

“Good evening, children,” he says, taking the chance. 

“Good evening, Chan,” they say, eerily in unison. 

He smiles and pulls out his chair, but when he goes to sit down, something sharp pokes at him from the cushion and he yells in pain, grasping at his rear end. When he calms down, the Captain is glaring at him in annoyance. 

“Enchanting little ritual.” His words drip with sarcasm. “Something you er, learned at the monastery?” 

Chan looks down at the chair, where a pinecone lies innocently. He considers, for a brief moment, telling the truth. But he doesn’t want to give the man any reason to punish his children when they’re already ruled under an iron fist. 

“No it’s, um, uh, rheumatism,” he lies, patting his backside. 

For some reason, the children look disappointed. 

As they finally start eating, it’s quiet. Too quiet. Chan can’t really stand the silence, so he speaks with the first thing that comes to mind. 

“I’d like to thank each and every one of you for the precious gift you left in my pocket earlier,” he says brightly. 

The children’s faces pale with horror, and Chan immediately feels guilty as Captain Lee asks, “What gift?” 

The children’s faces are a mixture of pleading and murderous, so Chan once again thinks quickly and says, “Er, it’s meant to be a secret, Captain, between the children and me.” 

“Uh huh. Then I suggest you keep it and let us eat,” the captain says coldly, returning to his food. 

But now Chan has a personal vendetta against him. What had he ever done to make the captain so cold and closed off? Ignoring the children’s expressions for a moment, he continues, “Knowing how nervous I must have been, a stranger in a new household, knowing how important it was for me to feel accepted, it was so kind of you to make my first moments here so warm and happy and pleasant.” 

He’s looking around at the children as he talks, pointedly avoiding Captain Lee’s gaze, but when he finally looks at the captain, the man seems at a loss for words. Instead, he quirks his mouth in a strange expression, like he’s trying to come off sarcastic but it’s not quite working. 

Jeongin sniffles from the captain’s left, and the captain redirects his attention there. “Now, what _is_ the matter, Jeongin?” 

“Nothing,” Jeongin sobs. 

Across the table, Seungmin starts to sniffle as well, and suddenly all the children are crying into their food. Crocodile tears, Chan knows. 

Captain Lee sighs, putting down his fork and looking directly at Chan. “Is it at every meal or just at dinner time that you intend to lead us all through this rare and wonderful new world of indigestion?” His sarcastic smile fades away at the last word, leaving his face as cold as before.

“Oh, they’re alright, Captain,” Chan says, meeting his gaze. “They’re just happy.”

Immediately, every child’s sobs turn into wailing, with the exception of Changbin and Hyunjin, who look at a loss for what to do. 

Chan is saved by the butler—whose name he’d found out through persistent nagging was Jae—coming in. “Telegram for you, sir,” he says, handing Captain Lee a slip of paper. 

Chan notices Changbin immediately perking up and looking over his shoulder, as though searching for someone. “Jae,” he says, stopping the butler in his tracks. “Who delivered it?” 

“The young lad Yeonjun, of course,” Jae says. 

There’s a tiny smile on Changbin’s face that Chan would be a fool to miss. “Father, may I be excused?” 

Captain Lee gives a distracted hum of acknowledgement. “Children,” he says, folding the paper back up. “Tomorrow morning, I shall be leaving for Vienna.” 

There’s a clamor from the children, a chorus of _not again, Father_ and other pleas for him not to go. But when the captain looks around at the table sharply, all the children snap their mouths shut and turn back to their food. 

“How long will you be gone this time, Father?” Jeongin asks sadly as Changbin quietly gets up with his plate. 

“Not sure, Jeongin, not sure,” Captain Lee says offhandedly, clearly avoiding the question. 

“To visit Baron Park again?” Jisung asks, to which Hyunjin hisses, “Mind your own business!” 

But Captain Lee doesn’t seem bothered. “As a matter of fact, yes, Jisung.” 

“Why can’t we ever get to see the Baron?” Jisung pleads. 

Across the table, Seungmin says, “Why would he want to see you?” 

The captain swallows his food before responding, “It just so happens that you _are_ going to see the Baron. I’m bringing him back with me to visit us all.” 

Chan notices Changbin leaving as the rest of the kids express their satisfaction and excitement, and makes a note to talk to him about it later, just to make sure he’s safe.

“And,” the captain continues, “Uncle Seokjin.” 

The cheers from the children are loud and excited, so Chan figures this Uncle Seokjin is a family favorite. He still has so much to learn about this family, and figure out how best he can help them. 

* * *

There’s a storm outside as Chan is closing the windows to his room before bed. 

He doesn’t get to finish as there’s a knock on his door, and he turns. “Come in!” 

Younghyun pushes open the door, carrying a few bundles of fabric. He pads across the room to push them into Chan’s hands. “For your new clothes.” 

“Oh, how lovely,” Chan says, tracing his fingers over the beautiful fabric. “I’m sure these will make the prettiest clothes I’ve ever had.” 

A thought comes to him, and he folds his arms completely over the bundles to look up at Younghyun. “Tell me, do you think the captain would get me some more material if I asked him?” 

“How much clothing do you need?” Younghyun asks, amused. 

“No, not for me,” Chan amends quickly. “For the children.” His gaze follows the housekeeper as he goes to close some of the curtains. “I want to make them some play clothes.” 

“The Lee children don’t play, they march.” Younghyun looks sympathetic, at least, so Chan takes a chance. 

“Surely you don’t approve of that.”

Younghyun sighs and steps back from the curtains. “Ever since the captain lost his poor wife, he runs this house as if he were on one of his ships again. Whistles, orders. No more music, no more laughing. Nothing that reminds him of her. Even the children.”

“But that’s so wrong,” Chan protests, wrapping his hands around the bedpost. 

“Ah well,” Younghyun says, in a tone that’s final. “How do you like your room?” As Chan nods and smiles, he continues, “There’ll be new drapes at the windows.” 

“New drapes?” Chan asks, glancing at the curtains. “But these are fine.” 

Younghyun moves toward the door. “Nevertheless, new ones have been ordered.”

“Oh, but I really didn’t need—”

“Goodnight, now,” Younghyun says, and moves to shut the door behind him. 

Chan catches it before he can. “Herr Kang, do you think if I asked the captain tomorrow about the material…”

Younghyun shrugs. “He’s leaving for Vienna in the morning.” 

“Oh yes, of course.” Chan’s shoulders sag. “How long will he be gone?” 

The look Younghyun gives him is pained. “It all depends. The last time he visited the Baron he stayed for a month.” He looks out into the hallway, then leans closer. “I shouldn’t be saying this, not to you—I mean, I don’t know you that well—but if you ask me, the captain’s thinking very seriously of marrying the man before the summer’s over.”

The pang of disappointment is quickly overtaken by joy. “Oh, that would be wonderful. The children will have another parental figure again.” 

“Yes, well,” Younghyun says, and it sounds almost pitying. “Goodnight.” 

“Goodnight,” Chan returns softly, and closes the door after him. 

He goes to a spare chair in the room to set down his outer robe, then kneels at his bedside. “Dear God,” he starts. “Now I know why you sent me here: to help these children prepare themselves for a new parent. And I pray that this will become a happy family in thy sight. God bless the captain, God bless Changbin, Hyunjin. God bless Seungmin, Felix, and little Jeongin.” He pauses. “Oh, and God bless the last one I forgot—what’s his name? Well, God bless what's-his-name.” 

As he speaks, he’s aware of something behind him, a rustling of the curtains and something sliding to the floor. 

“God bless the Father Abbott, and Brother Martin, and everyone at the monastery…” 

He glances to the side just in time to catch Changbin hurrying through the room as if on fire, drenched from the rain outside. 

“And now, dear God, about Changbin.” 

Changbin freezes in his tracks, one hand on the door, and turns around slowly. Chan leans forward on the bed, purposefully not looking at him. 

“Help him to know that I’m his friend, and help him to tell me what he’s been up to.” 

Changbin takes a step toward him, then hurries forward to clutch at the railing at the foot of the bed. “Are you going to tell on me?” he asks. 

“Shh,” Chan tells him. “Help me to be understanding so that I may guide his footsteps. In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost, amen.” He crosses himself and finally turns to Changbin. 

“I was out taking a walk,” Changbin says hurriedly, “and somebody locked the doors earlier than usual and I didn’t want to wake everyone up, so when I saw your window open—”

He cuts himself off, stepping just a little bit closer. Chan’s never seen this side of him, imploring and actually looking like a child for once. “You’re not going to tell Father, are you?” 

Chan almost tells him he should, but something in his chest softens. He sighs and pushes himself to his feet, walking over to the window to close it, but not before peeking down at the grounds outside. 

“How in the world did you climb up here?” he asks, aghast.

Changbin clasps his hands behind his back, looking more gleeful now. “It’s how we always got into this room to play tricks on the governess. Jisung can make it with a whole jar of spiders in his hand.” 

“Spiders?!” Chan slams the window shut and whirls around, staring at Changbin in horror. 

Changbin nods, grinning. 

Sighing, Chan puts a hand to his chest and opts to change the subject instead. “Changbin, were you out walking all by yourself?” 

The teenager starts to nod his head, but at Chan’s expression, shakes it instead, looking down guiltily. 

“You know,” Chan says, already so fond, “if we wash out your clothes tonight, nobody would notice it tomorrow.” 

It’s worth it when Changbin’s entire face lights up in a genuine smile, and Chan feels that warmth fill him up as well. 

“You could put this on,” Chan continues, moving toward his wardrobe for a spare set of nightwear. “Take your clothes in there and put it to soak in the bathtub, then come back here and sit on the bed, and we’ll have a talk.” 

He opens the bathroom door for Changbin, who’s about to go inside when he stops and turns back to Chan. 

“I told you today I didn’t need a caretaker,” he says bashfully. “Well, maybe I do.” 

Chan smiles at him gently before closing the door. 

He makes his way back over to the wardrobe to close it, then appraises his bed. He can’t be too careful. Slowly, carefully, he inches a hand toward the edge of the blankets, then flips them over until he can see the bare sheets. Nothing is there, and he lets out a breath before doing the same on the other side. 

No spiders, then. 

He moves to put the blankets back in order before a clap of thunder sounds outside the window, paired with the door to his room slamming open. Jeongin bursts in, pressing his back to the wall right next to the door. 

“Jeongin?” Chan asks gently. “Are you scared?” 

Jeongin shakes his head, but when the next thunderclap sounds, he comes flying into Chan’s arms, clinging to his stomach for dear life. Chan lets go of him gently and kneels until he’s eye level with the small child. 

“You’re not afraid of a thunderstorm, are you?” he smiles, gently petting Jeongin’s hair. Jeongin doesn’t answer, but he’s trembling and that’s answer enough. 

Picking him up, Chan says, “Now, you just stay right here with me.” He shifts so he can sit on the bed, Jeongin in his lap. “Where are the others?” 

“They’re asleep,” Jeongin says in a small voice. “They’re not scared.” 

Another thunderclap has Jeongin flinging his tiny arms around Chan’s neck and burying his face in Chan’s chest as two more children come running into the room. 

“No?” Chan asks Jeongin. “Look.” Both of them look up at Felix and Seungmin. “Alright everybody, up here on the bed.” 

“Really?” Seungmin asks hopefully. 

Chan smiles. “Well, just this once. Come on.” He moves Jeongin so he can crawl under the covers, and Jeongin and Felix wriggle their way in next to him as Seungmin sits on top of the blankets. 

“Now all we have to do is wait for the older ones,” Chan grins as he settles back against the headboard. 

“You won’t see them, Hyunjin and Jisung are brave,” Felix says, just as all of them huddle into little balls with another round of thunder. 

But just as the thunder recedes, Hyunjin and Jisung themselves come running into the room, faltering in their steps and trying to appear unaffected. 

“You boys weren’t scared too, were you?” Chan asks knowingly. 

“Oh no,” Hyunjin says, waving his hand. “We just wanted to be sure that _you_ weren’t.” 

Chan can barely restrain a smile. “Very thoughtful of you, Hyunjin.” 

“It wasn’t my idea,” Hyunjin insists. “It was Jisung’s.” 

“Jisung!” Chan says, finally remembering. “That’s the name I forgot. God bless Jisung.” 

More thunder outside. The kids all dive onto the bed and Felix asks, “Why does it do that?” 

“Well,” Chan says, trying to think of a way to make it sound less scary. “The lightning says something to the thunder and the thunder answers back!”

The children start to smile, making Chan smile as well. “The lightning must be nasty,” Felix says. 

“No, not really.” Chan looks down at him, letting him curl up even closer. 

“Then why does the thunder get so angry?” Jeongin asks. “It makes me want to cry.” 

Chan puts an arm around Jeongin and Felix as the thunder sounds again. “Well now, whenever anything bothers me and I’m feeling unhappy, I just try and think of nice things.” 

“What kinds of things?” Seungmin and Jisung chorus. 

Chan should’ve expected that. “Uh, well, let’s see… Nice things…” 

An idea strikes him. 

“Daffodils!” He looks at each of the children in turn. “Green meadows, skies full of stars, raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens…” 

The song is bubbling out of him before he knows it. 

_Bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens_

_Brown paper packages tied up with strings_

_These are a few of my favorite things_

As the kids burrow under the covers again, he lifts the covers so that they can’t hide, continuing to sing. 

_Cream colored ponies and crisp apple strudels_

_Doorbells and sleigh bells and schnitzel with noodles_

_Wild geese that fly with the moon on their wings_

_These are a few of my favorite things_

Grabbing Hyunjin’s hands, he propels himself forward so that he’s sitting upright with his legs tucked under him, the children crowding in close. They’re starting to smile more widely and forget about the storm, and Chan silently thanks the Lord. 

_Girls in white dresses with blue satin sashes_

_Snowflakes that stay on my nose and eyelashes_

_Silver white winters that melt into springs_

_These are a few of my favorite things_

The kids start to duck again, covering their heads, but Chan playfully pushes at Jisung and then some of the others, encouraging them to get up and off the bed at their own pace. 

_When the dog bites_

_When the bee stings_

_When I'm feeling sad_

_I simply remember my favorite things_

_And then I don't feel so bad_

“Does it really work?” Felix asks. 

“Of course, it does,” Chan says matter-of-factly. “You try. What things do you like?” 

“Christmas!” Jisung shouts.

“Bunny rabbits!” Jeongin giggles. 

They devolve into a squealing mess of laughter and pillowfighting, some scrambling off the bed and some tossing pillows back and forth.

“See what fun it is?” Chan beams. 

_Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens_

_Bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens_

_Brown paper packages tied up with strings_

_These are a few of my favorite things_

The children keep looking toward him, and he exhales, trying to summon more of the song to his mind and deciding to loop back to an earlier verse. Changbin joins them from the bathroom, just as rowdy as the rest of them as they waltz and frolic around the room. The fear of the storm is completely gone, at least, the children all smiles now.

_Cream colored ponies and crisp apple strudels_

_Doorbells and sleigh bells and schnitzel with noodles_

_Wild geese that fly with the moon on their wings_

_These are a few of my favorite things_

_Girls in white dresses with blue satin sashes_

_Snowflakes that stay on my nose and eyelashes_

_Silver white winters that melt into springs_

_These are a few of my favorite things_

It’s as he’s going into another round of _when the dog bites_ that he screeches to a halt, having twirled into someone at the doorway. 

A very angry someone by the name of Captain Minho Lee.

Everything goes silent. The children scramble to fall in line, guilty looks on their faces as if the last few minutes hadn’t happened at all. 

Chan tries for the friendly track. “Hello,” he greets, as brightly as he can. 

“Did I not tell you that bedtime is to be strictly observed in this house.”

Frowning, Chan says, “Well, the children were upset by the storm so I thought that if I—”

He takes a deep breath in when he sees the captain’s expression. “You did, sir.” 

“And do you or do you not have such difficulty remembering such simple instructions.” 

Something inside Chan hardens. He sets his jaw and lifts his chin. 

“Only during thunderstorms, sir.” 

There’s a choked giggle behind them, and Captain Lee’s eyes flit in the children’s direction. 

“Changbin.” 

Changbin starts from his place at the end of the line. “Yes, Father.” 

Captain Lee stalks forward, his gaze boring into his eldest child. “I don’t recall seeing you anywhere after dinner.” 

“Oh, really?” Changbin starts, stuttering in panic. “Well, as a matter of fact, I—”

“Yes?”

“Well—Well, I was—”

Chan steps in before it can go any further. “What he would like to say, Captain, is that he and I have been getting better acquainted tonight.” It’s not a lie, at least not completely.

Changbin nods in agreement, shooting Chan a grateful look.

“But it’s much too late now to go into all of that,” Chan tacks on to save face. “Come along, children, you heard your father. Go back to bed immediately.” He steps in front of the captain and shoos all the children back into the hall, and they hurry away without protest. 

“Chan,” the captain says after they’ve left. “You have managed to remember that I’m leaving in the morning.” 

Chan feels almost naked under his gaze. He simply nods, not daring to speak. 

“Is it also possible that you remember that the first rule in this house is discipline?” 

He nods again, more slowly this time. 

“Then I trust that before I return, you will have acquired some.” He turns to leave, with the air of someone who is used to getting in the last word. 

Chan can’t let him go just yet. “Captain,” he starts, stepping forward. The captain pauses with one hand on the door. Better say it now, while he has the nerve.

“Before you go, I was wondering if I could talk to you about some clothes for the children.” 

Captain Lee already looks annoyed. “Chan,” he starts.

“For when they play,” Chan barrels on. “If I could just have some material—”

“Obviously you are many things, not the least of which is repetitious.” 

“But they’re _children!”_ Chan protests. 

Captain Lee looks at him searchingly. “Yes, and I’m their father. Goodnight.” 

Chan drops his hands, heaving a sigh of helplessness. He puts his hands on his hips, huffing at the door, then deflates, running a hand through his hair. Still frustrated, he walks over to one of the chairs by the window and sits down, the thunder booming in sympathy outside. 

He reaches over to unhook the strip of fabric holding the curtains open, but then he stops and touches his hand to the fabric. There’s a lot of it, and at least three windows in the room, all with drapes that Herr Kang had said would be changed out tomorrow. But instead of being thrown out, if they could be repurposed...

Chan starts to grin. Now there’s an idea. 

* * *

After the captain leaves in the morning, Chan gets to work. Two days later, he’s armed the children with a new set of play clothes, and they’re ready to have a grand old time. 

He takes them everywhere around Salzburg, letting them peer over the bridge into the river and run through the marketplace. He takes them through squares and plazas and even shows them the monastery from the outside, unsure why he’s unable to bring himself to visit the Brothers. 

The children love it. They’ve clearly never been able to run and jump and play so freely, and now that Chan’s shown them this new freedom, they can’t get enough of it, and they’ve warmed up to him so much, actually smiling and laughing around him now. 

After a short train ride and walk, they’re in the hills, setting up a picnic in a lush meadow. Hyunjin and Felix are playing catch with a ball they’d found while Jeongin watches Seungmin skip rope and Changbin teaches Jisung how to weave a crown with flowers, sitting next to Chan on the picnic blanket. 

“Channie, can we do this every day?” Jisung asks hopefully. 

Chan smiles. “Don’t you think you’d get tired of it, Jisung?” 

“I suppose so.” Jisung focuses on one of the strands of flowers, then looks up again. “Every other day?” 

Felix skids to a stop next to the blanket with the ball. “I haven’t had so much fun since the day we put glue on Fraulein Josephine’s toothbrush.” 

Chan shakes his head as Hyunjin laughs. “I can’t understand how children as nice as you can manage to play such awful tricks on people.” 

“Oh, it’s easy,” Seungmin assures him, coming over with the skipping rope. 

“But why do it?” Chan asks. 

Changbin gives him a look that’s far too wise for his years. “How else can we get Father’s attention?” 

Chan tilts his head. “Oh, I see. Well, we’ll have to think about that one.” He claps his hands so that all the children can hear him. “Alright, everyone, over here.”

“What’re we going to do?” Hyunjin asks. 

“Let’s think of something to sing for the Baron when he comes,” Chan responds. 

Jeongin looks apprehensive. “Father doesn’t like us to sing.” 

Chan thinks of the furrow between Captain Lee’s eyebrows, thinks about smoothing it out with his fingertips. “Well, perhaps we can change his mind.” Shaking away the thought, he picks up his guitar and sits down on a rock, the children coming to sit in a loose circle around him. “Now, what songs do you know?” 

“We don’t know any songs,” Hyunjin says mournfully. 

“Not any?”

Jisung leans forward to lie down, propped up by his elbows. “We don’t even know how to sing.” 

Chan can’t believe it. Singing is so much a part of his life that he can’t imagine what it would be like without it. “Well, let’s not lose any time. You must learn.” 

“But how?” Felix frowns. 

Checking that his guitar is in tune, Chan starts to strum something, and the words come to him easily. 

_Let's start at the very beginning_

_A very good place to start_

_When you read you begin with_

He looks at the children, silently asking for an answer. 

“A, B, C,” Jeongin supplies helpfully, and Chan smiles as he continues.

_When you sing you begin with do-re-mi_

“ _Do, re, mi,_ ” the children chorus dutifully.

_do-re-mi_

_The first three notes just happen to be_

_Do-re-mi_

_Do-re-mi (all)_

_Do-re-mi-fa-so-la-ti_

That feels a little too fast, judging by the children’s confused faces. “Let’s see if I can make it easier,” Chan assures them.

_Doe, a deer, a female deer_

_Ray, a drop of golden sun_

_Me, a name I call myself_

_Far, a long, long way to run_

_Sew, a needle pulling thread_

_La, a note to follow Sew_

_Tea, a drink with jam and bread_

_That will bring us back to Do (oh-oh-oh)_

The children join in the second time he repeats the verse, all calling out different notes at the beginning. They’re picking it up quickly, and Chan finally abandons his guitar to act out each line, much to the children’s amusement.

Once they’ve gone through it a few times, Chan tells them, “Now children, do-re-mi-fa-so and so on are only the tools we use to build a song. Once you have these notes in your heads, you can sing a million different tunes by mixing them up, like this.” He thinks for a moment, then starts to sing a tune. 

“ _So Do La Fa Mi Do Re.”_ Turning to them, he asks, “Can you do that?”

 _“So Do La Fa Mi Do Re,”_ they sing back at him. 

_“So Do La Ti Do Re Do,”_ he continues.

 _“So Do La Ti Do Re Do,”_ they answer.

Chan claps his hands together. “Now, put it all together.” 

As a chorus, they all sing, _“So Do La Fa Mi Do Re, So Do La Ti Do Re Do!”_

“Good!” Chan says, very pleased with the result. They really do have such sweet voices. 

“But it doesn't mean anything!” Jeongin frowns.

Chan raises a finger triumphantly. “So we put in words. One word for every note, like this.” He clears his throat, then sings.

_When you know the notes to sing_

_You can sing most anything_

“Together!” he urges them, and the children join in, all of them with beautiful harmonies. 

_When you know the notes to sing_

_You can sing most anything_

Starting to pack up their picnic, Chan continues to sing, leading them through the entire song again. The children scramble eagerly to help, all of them singing together as they make their way back into the city and towards home.

_Doe, a deer, a female deer_

_Ray, a drop of golden sun_

_Me, a name I call myself_

_Far, a long, long way to run_

_Sew, a needle pulling thread_

_La, a note to follow Sew_

_Tea, a drink with jam and bread_

_That will bring us back to Do_

By this point, the children have started to experiment on their own, mixing the notes in different harmonies and even dancing along. Chan is only too happy to join in, his heart swelling because he’d been able to show them the gift of music.

_Do Mi Mi_

_Mi So So_

_Re Fa Fa_

_La Ti Ti_

_When you know the notes to sing_

_You can sing most anything_

_Doe, a deer, a female deer_

_Ray, a drop of golden sun_

_Me, a name I call myself_

_Far, a long, long way to run_

_Sew, a needle pulling thread_

_La, a note to follow Sew_

_Tea, a drink with jam and bread_

_That will bring us back to_

_Do (So Do)_

_Re (La Fa)_

_Mi (Mi Do)_

_Fa Re_

_So (So Do)_

_La (La Fa)_

_Ti La So Fa Mi Re_

_Ti Do oh oh Ti Do_

_So Do!_

* * *

The children excitedly tell Chan a couple days later that they’d seen their father’s car while climbing trees along the waterfront, so Chan decides what better way to surprise the captain than in a boat to the gates at the end of the walkway in front of the house? As they float along the water, paddling toward the gates, the children are in high spirits as well, laughing and singing. 

Chan has his back to the house at the head of the boat, so the children see their father before he does, and immediately all stand at once, shouting, “Father, Father!” 

Chan is still riding the high of the last few days he’s spent with the children, so he stands too, happy to see the man even after he’d left cross with Chan and doesn’t look any happier right now. 

“Oh Captain, you’re home!” he calls, waving his fists happily.

All of their waving and jumping tips the boat over dangerously, and both Chan and the kids go tumbling into the water. 

Captain Lee’s face is thunderous. “Come out of that water at once!” he bellows.

The children are still giggling as they help each other out, and Chan holds onto the boat as he turns, taking stock of the beautiful, beautiful man in highly fashionable clothes standing next to Captain Lee.

“Oh!” he realizes, calling out to him. “You must be Baron Park!” 

Baron Park looks a bit amused, but hides his smile when Captain Lee looks at him cuttingly. The children shout and laugh as they climb the short flight of stairs to the main walkway, but when the captain pulls out his whistle and blows on it, they hurriedly move into their places in line. 

Chan finally gets a better look at Baron Park when they exchange glances, but he’s distracted as the captain yells, “Straight line!” and paces in front of the children. The captain yanks the bandana off Jisung’s head and closes his fist around it before coming back to stand next to Baron Park. 

“This is Baron Seonghwa Park,” Captain Lee says stiffly, and his tight-lipped smile falls away completely as he continues, “And these are my children.” 

Baron Park smiles at them, still seemingly amused. “How do you do,” he offers politely. His voice is soft and melodious, and something twinges in Chan’s gut, intensified as the children only nod, scared stiff. 

“Alright, go inside,” Captain Lee cuts in. “Dry off, change your clothes, report back here. Immediately!” 

The children flee down the walkway to the door to the house, and Chan feels a knot of something else harden inside him. He frowns in Captain Lee’s direction, disappointed but not surprised. He really should’ve known better than to expect a warm welcome back. 

As he starts to follow after the children, however, the captain’s voice stops him. 

“Chan, you will stay here, please.” It’s not a polite request. 

Chan stops in his tracks. Before he turns around, the baron murmurs an excuse about going to see what Seokjin is up to and leaves as Chan finally faces the captain head-on. He doesn’t speak, waiting for the captain to say his bit because he doesn’t trust himself to be kind right now. 

“Now, Chan. I want a truthful answer from you.” 

“Yes, Captain?” Chan asks in as level a voice as he can muster. 

Captain Lee’s eyes are just as piercing as ever. “Is it possible—or could I have just been imagining it—have my children been climbing trees today?” 

“Yes, Captain,” Chan says without hesitation. 

“I see.” The captain slowly raises the bandana with his next words. “And where, may I ask, did they get these, um…”

“Play clothes,” Chan supplies.

The captain’s expression and tone are scathingly sarcastic. “Oh, is that what you call them.”

Chan feels the beginnings of anger stir in the pit of his belly. “I made them. From the drapes that used to hang in my bedroom.” 

“Drapes—”

“They still have plenty of wear left,” Chan insists. “The children have been everywhere in them.” 

Captain Lee takes a step forward and keeps walking toward Chan, his expression twisting in anger. “Do you mean to tell me that my children have been roaming about Salzburg dressed up in nothing but some old drapes?!” As he gets close enough to Chan for Chan to see his own reflection in the other’s eyes, he flings the bandana aside aggressively. 

Chan honestly feels extremely satisfied, in a very petty way. He’s no longer going to let the captain just walk all over him.

“Mhm. And having a marvelous time,” he says with a bright smile. 

“They have uniforms,” the captain spits, already turning to move past Chan like he’d known he would. 

“Straightjackets, if you’ll forgive me for that.” 

He hears the captain turn. “I will not forgive you for that—”

“The children cannot do all the things they’re supposed to do if they have to worry about spoiling—”

“They haven’t complained yet.” 

“—their precious clothes. They wouldn’t dare!” Chan yells at his retreating back, this time pacing toward the gates to the water before turning back around. “They love you too much! They fear you too much—”

“I don’t wish you to discuss my children in this manner—”

“Well you’ve got to hear from someone,” Chan grits out. “You’re never home long enough to—”

“—I said I don’t want to hear any more from you about my children—”

“—know them. I know you don’t but you’ve _got_ to!” 

There’s a silence. Chan feels his hands trembling, but he’s not about to back down now, not when no one has ever stood up to Captain Lee and this is long overdue.

“Now take Changbin,” he starts. 

“You will not say one word about Changbin,” the captain says, back on the defensive as he paces toward Chan, but Chan doesn’t stop. He doesn’t know if the captain will ever listen to him again after this, but all his cards are on the table now. 

“He’s not a child anymore. Now, one of these days you’ll wake up and find he’s a man, and you won’t even know him! And Hyunjin, he’s a boy but he wants to be a man like you too and there’s no one to show him how—”

“Don’t you dare tell me about my son!” 

“Seungmin could tell you about him, if you’d let him get close to you—he notices everything. And Felix pretends he’s tough—”

“Chan.”

“—not to show how hurt he is when you brush him aside—”

“That will do.”

“—the way you do all of them. And Jisung I don’t know about yet but—”

“I said that will do!” 

“—someone has to find out about him, and the little ones just want to be loved.” Chan looks at him imploringly, the anger dulling into something like hurt. He steps forward, leaning into the captain’s space. “Oh, please, Captain, love them—love them all—”

“I don’t care to hear anything more from you about my children—”

“I am not finished yet, Captain!”

“Oh yes you are, Captain!” Captain Lee whirls around from where he’d stalked away from Chan. There’s a moment’s pause, and his eyes close, realizing his mistake. “Chan.” 

Absurdly, Chan almost smiles to himself.

“Now,” the captain says slowly, careful and measured. “You will pack your things right this minute and return to the monastery.”

The sound of singing drifts in their direction from the house, and the captain is about to turn when he stops. “What’s that.” 

“It’s singing,” Chan replies, his sinking heart kept afloat by that last shred. 

Captain Lee gives him an unimpressed look. “Yes, I realize it’s singing, but _who_ is singing?”

Well, Chan has nothing to lose now. “The children,” he answers truthfully, the words sticking in his throat. 

Blinking, the captain turns his face toward the house. “The children?” 

“I taught them something to sing for the Baron.”

The captain doesn’t reply, doesn’t even look back in Chan’s direction, really. He starts toward the house, with an urgency Chan hadn’t expected. Chan stares after him, feeling a little emptier. 

He supposes he should wait a moment before going to pack his bags, but his curiosity wins out over the simmering anger. Picking up his feet, he drags himself after the captain, peeking through the door to the house. 

_My heart wants to sing every song_

_it hears (every song that it hears)_

The captain is standing at the door to the room the children are singing in, completely still. Chan wonders what’s going on through his mind, what emotions he’s feeling. He hasn’t stopped the children so far, so it must be positive, or a battle he’s fighting with himself. 

_My heart wants to beat like the wings_

_of the birds that rise_

_from the lake to the trees (to the trees)_

_My heart wants to sigh like_

_the chime that flies_

_From the church on a breeze_

_To laugh like a brook_

_as it trips and falls_

_over stones on its way (on its way)_

_To sing through the night_

_like a lark_

The captain must have settled something within himself, because he joins in at that moment, more than just humming. 

_“Who is learning to pray… I go to the hills...”_

There’s a noticeable falter in the children’s song, nothing there but the sound of the captain’s voice, smooth and clear and _beautiful,_ if Chan does say so himself. He carries the tune with him, and the children start to quietly harmonize in the background in support. 

_when my heart is lonely_

_I know I will hear_

_what I’ve heard before_

_My heart will be blessed_

_with the sound of music_

_And I’ll sing_

_once more_

Chan moves forward until he’s standing in the doorway to the parlor, feeling like he’s intruding as he watches them. But the captain makes a small gesture with his hands, as though trying to invite the children in and doesn’t know how, and the children surge toward him as he wraps them all in a hug, touching cheeks and smiles all around. 

Jeongin looks toward Chan in the doorway, who gestures him forward. Running up to Baron Park, who’s seated on the divan, Jeongin holds out a small cluster of edelweiss, which Baron Park takes with a smile, then bows.

“Edelweiss,” the baron says, and then scoops Jeongin into a hug. “You never told me how enchanting your children are,” he says, looking up at the captain. 

Chan startles when the captain turns directly toward him in the doorway, and tries to tamp down his feelings, turning toward the stairs. 

“Don’t go away,” he hears Captain Lee tell the children as he starts on the first stair, and then the captain is calling his name. 

Dutifully, Chan pauses on the stairs, looking down at the captain standing there humbly and awkwardly in the foyer. It’s such a stark change, but it’s a kind of hope for Chan to cling onto.

“I… behaved badly,” the captain says, and his voice drops in volume. “I apologize.” 

It sounds sincere to Chan, and he gives a little as well. “No I’m—I’m far too outspoken. It’s one of my worst faults.” 

“You were right, though,” Captain Lee tells him softly, stepping forward. “I don’t know my children.”

Chan melts, gripping the railing and leaning forward. “There’s still time, Captain,” he pleads. “They want so much to be close to you.”

Captain Lee doesn’t seem to know what to say to that. “You brought music back into the house,” he says, with a small note of wonder. “I’d forgotten.” 

There’s something overwhelming about seeing the captain so vulnerable like this. Chan has to look away, something unnameable in his chest, and starts up the stairs. 

“Chan,” the captain calls again, and Chan pauses, his fingers trembling. He turns, and the captain is closer to the stairs than before. 

“I want you to stay,” Captain Lee says urgently. His hands clench and unclench, like they want to be doing something but can’t. The air between them is electric and filled with something unresolved as the silence stretches on. “I… ask you to stay.” 

It’s so caring and almost tender that Chan feels every nerve light on fire. He wonders if he’s allowed to feel this way. 

“If I could be of any help,” he says carefully, a tentative smile spreading across his face. 

“You have already,” the captain says immediately. “More than you know.” 

He looks like he wants to say something more, but instead, he turns abruptly and walks back into the parlor. 

Chan tries to ignore the swoop of joy that courses through him, but ultimately fails as he clasps his faltering hands together and practically runs the rest of the way up the stairs. 

* * *

The children have the brilliant idea of putting on a puppet show for their father, Seokjin, and the baron, and it’s a huge success. After the show is over, they all excitedly bounce around their father for approval, and it’s so heartening to see him smile and tell them they did a good job.

“Can we really keep the puppet show, Uncle Seokjin?” Jeongin asks, running right up to Seokjin and looking up at him with wide eyes.

“Yes, may we, Uncle Seokjin?”

“Of course you may, my darlings,” Seokjin assures them. “Why else would I have told Professor Kohner to send the bill to your father?”

The children break out into excited chatter as Chan comes out from behind the puppet theater, wiping at his brow. The captain is right there, fixing him with one of his intense stares, though this time it’s in a good way. Chan nearly flushes from the attention.

“Well done, Chan,” Captain Lee says warmly. Chan chuckles a bit and looks away, but the captain continues, “I really am very, very much impressed.”

“They're your children, Captain.” Chan holds his gaze.

The captain holds it for a moment longer before he registers the baron standing there. He nods once, then reaches out to offer the baron his arm.

Baron Park takes it, almost smugly. “My dear, is there anything you can't do?” he asks Chan, though he doesn’t take his eyes off the captain.

“Well,” Chan says truthfully. “I'm not sure I'll make a very good Brother.”

“If you have any problems, I'd be happy to help you,” the baron throws over his shoulder. He walks ahead, leaving the captain behind with Chan for a moment, and why is it that their eyes keep meeting?

As they make their way into the foyer, Seokjin claps his hands together. 

“Attention! Attention, everyone. I have an announcement to make. Surprise, surprise. Today, after a long and desperate search… I have finally found a most exciting entry for the Salzburg Folk Festival.”

“Congratulations, Seokjin,” Captain Lee says drily, putting his hands in his pockets. “Who will you be exploiting this time?”

Seokjin laughs and presses his hands together gleefully.

“The St. Ignatius Choir?” the baron asks.

“Guess again.”

The captain makes his way over, humoring him. “Uh, let me see now. The, um—the Klopmann Choir?”

“No, no. No, no, no.”

“Oh.” Captain Lee moves past him to a table on the opposite end of the foyer.

Changbin steps in, smiling hopefully at Seokjin. “Tell us.”

“A singing group all in one family,” Seokjin relents, putting his arm around Changbin. “You'll never guess, Minho.”

“What a charming idea,” the captain—who Chan needs to _not_ think of as _Minho_ —says. “Uh, whose family?”

Seokjin laughs as he steps up to the captain. “Yours.”

“Oh.”

Chan can see the children bouncing excitedly in place as Seokjin continues. “They'll be the talk of the festival.”

“Ηm.” The captain smiles, then starts to laugh like he can’t stop.

“What's so funny?” Seokjin asks, perplexed.

“You are, Seokjin.” Captain Lee reaches forward and pats Seokjin’s cheek condescendingly before turning to walk into the parlor. “You're expensive, but very funny.”

“But you heard them. They'll be a sensation!” Seokjin hurries after him, the rest of them in tow.

The smile drops from the captain’s face. “No, Seokjin.”

The children start groaning and pleading with their father, but he doesn’t budge. 

“It’s a wonderful idea,” Seokjin tries again. “Fresh, original!”

“Seokjin, my children do not sing in public.”

“Well,” Seokjin sighs, turning to Changbin. “You can't blame me for trying.”

Chan isn’t sure whether this will escalate or turn into an awkward silence, but he figures he’ll save them all from both, pushing his way fully into the room. “Children, who shall we hear from next?” 

The children gravitate toward him and huddle in close, all of them whispering the same name.

“Who? Are you sure?” Chan asks, just to be sure, and the children confirm their decision with sparkling eyes. 

Chan hadn’t been prepared for this. He clears his throat, then goes to pick up his guitar and crosses the room to present it to Captain Lee. “The vote is unanimous,” he says, trying not to let his earnest gaze betray him. “You, Captain.”

The captain has that intense gaze on his face that doesn’t let Chan breathe. “Me? I don't understand.”

“Please,” Chan tries again, but even he doesn’t know what he’s referring to at this point: for the captain to play a song, or to stop playing with his heartstrings. 

“Ah,” the captain says, his gaze finally breaking away from Chan’s to look around at the children, tutting disapprovingly. “No, no, no,” he singsongs.

Chan watches him, taking a step forward after the children. “I'm told that a long time ago you were quite good.”

“Well, that was a very, very, _very_ long time ago.” He turns again to face them. 

“I remember, Father,” Changbin says softly.

The other children join in with _play us something we know_ and _oh please, Father_ , and Chan finally succeeds in making the man take the guitar. The captain touches Jeongin’s cheek gently, then says, “Well.”

He hefts the guitar, settling it under his arm as he strums a few chords and the children sit down on the floor around him, with Changbin on a chair next to him.

“Why didn't you tell me?” Chan catches Seonghwa murmuring to Seokjin. 

“What?”

“To bring along my harmonica.”

Chan would try to pick apart why the thought of the captain and the baron playing together twinges at that achingly familiar something in his gut, but then the Captain starts to sing, and he forgets about it entirely. 

_Edelweiss, edelweiss_

_Every morning_

_You greet me_

_Small and white_

_Clean and bright_

_You look happy_

_To meet me_

It’s like all the air in Chan’s lungs has been sucked out of him. He holds his breath, and it hitches further when the captain’s gaze meets his across the room. There’s something in his eyes that Chan is too afraid to name, too afraid to confirm is a mirror of what he feels at the moment. All he can do is watch, transfixed, as Captain Lee turns back to look at the children.

_Blossom of snow_

_May you bloom and grow_

_Bloom and grow_

_Forever_

_Edelweiss, edelweiss_

_Bless my homeland_

_Forever_

The captain inclines his head toward Changbin as he strums a few interlude chords, and Changbin moves to sit on the floor in front of him, joining in as a second voice and harmony. Their gazes are so warm, and it makes Chan feel full as well, knowing how long Changbin has waited for this from his father.

_Edelweiss (edelweiss)_

_Edelweiss (edelweiss)_

_Every morning you greet me (both)_

_Small and white (small and white)_

_Clean and bright (clean and bright)_

_You look happy to meet me (both)_

_Blossom of snow_

_May you bloom and grow_

_Bloom and grow_

_Forever_

_Edelweiss_

_Bless my homeland forever_

For the last line or so, the captain’s gaze returns to Chan, still leaning against the wall and watching silently. The expression on his face is almost hopeful, like he’s looking for Chan’s approval, of all people. The corner of his mouth quirks upward, and he shrugs, not breaking eye contact.

Seokjin is the one to break the silence. “Any time you say the word, Minho, you can be part of my new act—The Lee Family Singers.”

Chan looks over to where Seokjin is sitting and meets Seonghwa’s eyes instead. Seonghwa quickly looks away, standing up and walking over to place his hands on the back of the captain’s chair. “I have a wonderful idea, Minho. Let's really fill this house with music. You must give a grand and glorious party for me while I'm here.”

“A party?” the captain asks. 

“Please, Father! Please!” the children chorus.

“I think it's high time I met all your friends here in Salzburg and they met me,” Seonghwa says, eyes glittering in a way Chan isn’t sure how to interpret. “Don't you agree?”

Captain Lee hesitates. “I see what you mean.”

As the children start pleading again, Chan takes the opportunity to make his exit and not stay for whatever the Baron is planning. “Children, it’s time to go to bed. Come on, now, say goodnight.” The Baron glances at him, but he only offers a smile in response.

The children complain but comply. “Good night, Father,” Changbin says, followed by a chorus of goodnights and kisses from the other children. 

Jeongin is brimming with excitement as he scurries out of the room after them. 

“It'll be my first party, Father!”

* * *

Chan knows he wouldn’t be at home in the ballroom among the distinguished guests in their uniforms and ball gowns, soaking himself in champagne and making useless small talk, so he doesn’t bother to join. It’s not like he has suitable clothes, anyway. 

He finds the children in a room just off the ballroom, with marble floors and little hedges along one side. Changbin and Hyunjin are dancing together, surprisingly, and Chan asks, “Why didn’t you children tell me you could dance?”

Felix steps forward, twirling around. “We were afraid you would make us all dance together. The Lee Family dancers!” 

As the children laugh, the music changes into something more stately, and their attention is pulled back to what they can see through the doors to the main ballroom. 

“What’s that they’re playing?” Jeongin asks curiously. 

“It’s the _ländler_ , it’s an Austrian folk dance,” Chan explains. 

Felix looks at him with wide, pleading eyes. “Show me.” 

“Oh, Felix, I haven’t danced that since I was a little boy,” Chan says, slightly embarrassed. 

But Felix turns up the pleading eyes. “Oh come on, you remember.” 

“Well…”

“Please?” He draws it out longer this time, and who is Chan to say no to Felix Lee?

“Oh, alright,” he relents, cupping Felix’s face in his hands. “Come on over here.”

He leads Felix to the middle of the floor. “Now bow to your partner.”

Felix bows neatly, one hand on his stomach and the other on his back. “Like this?” 

“Fine, now we go for a little walk.” He steps forward in threes, counting along, and Felix follows as best he can as they transition into the step-hop movement in the opposite direction. They get a little tangled as they try to move under their joined hands but that’s to be expected with their height difference. 

Then there’s another presence, someone who taps on Felix’s shoulder. 

“Um,” a voice says. “Do allow me.” 

Felix’s hands leave, and Chan whirls around to face Captain Lee, who only offers his hand without a word. 

Chan slowly accepts the hand, and they move in sync across the floor, maintaining eye contact. Turning back in the original direction, they join both hands and do the step-hop, but Chan’s lost his body to automatic movement now, only focused on the captain’s eyes. He tries to keep his eyes away after the turns, but it’s so hard with the heat rising to his face and the captain’s arms on his waist. 

As they progress, there’s a point in the dance where their faces are mere centimeters apart. Chan feels something in his knees weaken, something in his stomach swoop, the rest of the world fall away as he gazes into the captain’s eyes. They’re so close. Close enough that if Chan just leaned forward, just a little bit…

They slow to a halt, still with an arm around each other’s waists and the other hand clasped above their heads. There’s a long moment, two, where they just stare at each other. The captain’s eyes are deep and dark, and Chan feels himself growing weaker. If he doesn’t stop himself...

But he can’t kiss Captain Lee. Not when the man is promised to someone else, not when he’s likely to be married soon. He can’t do this anymore. 

Silently, Chan drops the captain’s hands and steps back. 

“I… I don’t remember any more,” he tries lamely. 

For some reason, the captain looks almost… disappointed.

“Your face is all red,” Seungmin notices, appearing out of nowhere. 

“Is it?” Chan asks in a panic, his hands flying to his cheeks. His eyes are still locked in the captain’s piercing gaze. “I don’t suppose I’m used to dancing.” 

“Oh, that was beautifully done,” the baron says from the doorway, walking over to Captain Lee. The captain finally turns away to face Seonghwa. “What a lovely couple you make.” 

Chan feels that thing again, twisting inside his chest. 

“Yes, er, I think it’s time the children said goodnight,” Captain Lee says, providing Chan an out which he readily takes. 

“Yes, we’ll be in the hall in a moment,” Chan says, settling back into his body. “We’ve got something very special prepared, right?” 

“Right!” Jisung says. 

With that, Chan turns and runs, the children in tow. The blush takes a long time to fade. 

* * *

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Chan announces to the ballroom, “the children of Captain Lee would like to say goodnight to you.” He beckons them forward to the gathering crowd in the foyer, then goes to make sure the children are ready. 

The children gather on the short flight of stairs to the main entrance of the house, and Chan watches proudly as they clasp their hands behind their backs and burst into song. 

_There's a sad sort of clanging_

_From the clock in the hall_

_And the bells in the steeple, too_

_And up in the nursery_

_An absurd little bird_

_Is popping out to say cuckoo_

Jeongin, Seungmin, and Felix pop out from behind their siblings to make little cuckoo sounds in time with the others’ singing, and Chan can tell the guests absolutely love it.

_(cuckoo) Regretfully they tell us_

_(cuckoo) But firmly they compel us_

_to say goodbye_

_To you (all)_

The music picks up, and the children move forward to form a line, doing little choreographed movements to the rest of the song. 

_So long, farewell_

_Auf Wiedersehen, goodnight_

_I hate to go and leave this pretty sight_

_So long, farewell_

_Auf Wiedersehen, adieu_

_Adieu, adieu_

_To you and you and you_

_So long, farewell_

_Au revoir, Auf Wiedersehen_

_I'd like to stay_

_And taste my first champagne_

Changbin walks up to the captain, and asks, “Yes?”

“No,” the captain says, waving his eldest child away. 

Changbin leaves with an exaggerated pout.

_So long, farewell_

_Auf Wiedersehen, goodbye_

_I leave and heave_

_A sigh and say goodbye_

As Jisung trills a very high note for a prolonged _goodbye_ , the guests laugh heartily. Then, the music slows down, and it’s just Felix, Seungmin, and Jeongin standing in front of the guests.

_I'm glad to go_

_I cannot tell a lie_

_I flit, I float_

_I fleetly flee, I fly_

Felix and Seungmin make little flitting movements like butterflies as they twirl offstage, and finally, Jeongin sits down on the stairs, scooting himself upward as he sings his final solo in his tiny, warbling voice. 

_The sun has gone_

_To bed and so must I_

Changbin comes down the steps to pick Jeongin up, and the children file up the stairs, waving to the guests with their last notes. 

_So long, farewell_

_Auf Wiedersehen, goodbye_

Three long goodbyes later, the guests fall back into chatter, praising the children’s performance around Chan. He smiles, then moves to make for the stairs himself and put the children to bed. 

“Oh, young man, I must have words with you.” Seokjin grabs his arm and smiles in a way that makes Chan wonder if he should trust him. As Chan tries to protest, Seokjin drags him toward Captain Lee. “Minho, you’re not going to let this boy get away. He has to join the party.” 

“No, really, I—”

“Shh, shh, shh, no, stop it, hush.” 

Captain Lee is in the middle of entertaining other guests, and barely spares them a glance.

“Minho, please.” 

The captain finally turns, only for a moment, and there’s none of the warmth or softness in his eyes from earlier. Chan’s heart drops to his feet. 

“You can if you want to, Chan.” He turns away. 

“I insist,” Seokjin continues. “You will be my dinner partner.” 

Chan can see the baron on the other side of Seokjin, and suddenly he doesn’t want to be here. 

“Jae,” Seokjin calls to the butler passing by, “set another place at the table for our dear Chan here.” 

Jae looks at Chan and blinks. “Er, as you say, Herr Kim.”

“Well, it appears to be all settled, then,” the captain says, giving them a tight smile. 

Seonghwa gives him a funny look. “It certainly does.” 

“I’m not suitably dressed,” Chan says, slightly panicked again. He really doesn’t want to sit at the same table as the baron and the captain after earlier. 

“Oh, well you can change, we’ll wait for you,” Captain Lee says much too quickly before another guest demands his attention. 

Well, that does it, then. Chan runs a hand through his hair, then nods with a strained smile to Seokjin and Seonghwa before leaving for the stairs. 

What is he going to do?

* * *

The baron appears in the doorway to his room with the offer to help, and stands as Chan clutches his shirt to his bare chest. 

“It’s very kind of you to offer to help me, Baron,” Chan says, anxiety spiking. 

“Delighted, Chan,” Seonghwa says with a smile. 

Chan finally lets himself set the shirt on the bed. “I really don’t think I have anything that would be appropriate.” 

“Now, where is that lovely little thing you were wearing the other evening, when the captain couldn’t keep his eyes off you?” 

Chan’s blood freezes in his veins, and he hears the sounds of rustling as the baron in his dashing suit and glittering finery moves to open Chan’s wardrobe. 

“Couldn’t... keep his eyes off me?” His voice sounds small to his own ears, and he pretends to busy himself with buttoning his shirt to be folded. 

There’s a little forced laugh. “Come, darling, let’s not pretend we don’t know when a man notices us.” He comes over and places the outfit from the evening of the puppet show on the bed next to Chan. “Here we are.” 

“The captain notices everybody and everything.” Chan can’t look him in the eyes, or look at him at all, so he moves in the other direction to stare out the window. 

“There’s no need to feel so defensive, Chan,” the baron says behind him. “You are quite attractive, you know. The captain would hardly be a man if he didn’t notice you.” 

Chan keeps his gaze fixed firmly on the window pane for a moment before he turns. “Baron, I hope you’re joking.” 

Seonghwa leans backward a little, placing one hand on the bed. “Not at all.” 

“But I’ve never done a thing to—”

“You don’t have to, dear.” The baron shakes his head. “There’s nothing more irresistible to a man than someone who’s in love with him.”

“In…” Chan pauses, thunder roaring in his ears. “In love with him…” 

“Of course.” Seonghwa lets out a puff of air that’s trying to be a laugh. “And what makes it so nice is that he thinks he’s in love with you.”

Chan takes a step back, then another. “But that’s not true,” he tries weakly.

“Surely you’ve noticed the way he looks into your eyes.” Seonghwa’s eyes flick away, then back to Chan. “And you know, uh, you blushed in his arms when you were dancing just now.”

Chan raises his hands to his cheeks again, as if he can hide another blush, but Seonghwa is not done yet. 

“Don’t take it to heart,” he says, clearly trying to maintain an unaffected air. “He’ll get over it eventually, I should think. Men do, you know.” 

Chan doesn’t know what he’s feeling, but he does know one thing. “Then I should go,” he says aloud. “I mustn’t stay here.” 

His hands drop slowly from his face, and he refuses to try and read Seonghwa’s expression. Now that the words are out there in the world, they feel more concrete. Overcome by the sudden urge, he lunges toward the wardrobe, tearing out his clothes and starting to stuff them in his bag. 

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Seonghwa asks, a small note of genuine concern creeping into his voice. 

“No, nothing,” Chan manages. His voice sounds cracked and desperate to his own ears. Then he stops, one hand on the wardrobe door. “Actually, yes. Don’t say a word about this to the captain.” 

Something self-righteous flicks across the baron’s face. “No. No, I wouldn’t dream of it.” 

He moves toward the door, and Chan returns to packing, but he sees the baron pause in front of the door. Turning, he says, “Goodbye, Chan. I’m sure you’ll make a very fine Brother.” 

With that, he turns the handle and is gone. 

Chan makes his way down the stairs with a heavy heart and his guitar case, and takes one last look around the foyer. No one is around, so he hurries over to the vanity on one side and leaves a note on the table. 

With no other excuse to stay, he steps out the front door, closing it for the last time.

* * *

_~~~ **INTERMISSION** ~~~ _

* * *

Minho watches the walkway in front of the house with growing unease. 

The baron and the children have set up a little circle, and they’re passing a ball back and forth between them. But Seonghwa is clearly out of his element, and when Felix finally asks something, probably to stop for the day, Seonghwa easily agrees, making his way back to Seokjin, who Minho knows is sitting on the veranda. 

The children follow after a moment, and Minho closes the curtain, heart heavy as he goes down to join them all. 

Seokjin had clearly put the children up to singing when he gathers the courage to come outside, and it’s slower and more mournful than he’s ever heard them. Minho pauses. Seungmin’s the first to break as he goes to the railing, and the rest of the children drift aimlessly around. 

Minho sucks in a breath. It’s worse than he’d thought. 

He’d been devastated by Chan’s departure, of course, but the children had been the first to get close to the man. He has no idea what they must be feeling, but he has to be strong for their sake, show them the pain won’t last forever. 

When he comes closer, the children stop singing and Seokjin steps forward. “They, uh, just wanted to sing for me.” 

“Oh no, that’s lovely. Lovely.” Minho waves his hand at the children, who are all looking at him silently. “Don’t stop.” 

Seokjin takes a seat at the table, and Minho forces himself to whistle as if carefree as he rounds the table to sit on the far side. 

“Something long and cool, Minho?” Seonghwa asks, taking his hand briefly. 

“No, thank you, Seonghwa.” He wishes he could feel something more as their hands brush. 

“Father?” 

Minho turns, putting a hand on the back of the empty chair. “Yes, Seungmin?”

Seungmin looks so drawn and pensive. “Is it true Chan’s not coming back?” 

“Chan?” Minho only briefly looks at the children. “Yes, I suppose it’s true. Yes.” He sits down finally, eyeing the pink lemonade on the table. “What _have_ we got here?” 

Seonghwa smiles at him, at least. “Pink lemonade.” 

“Laced with, uh, lemonade,” Seokjin ribs. Neither of them are looking at the children, either. 

“I don’t believe it, Father,” Seungmin presses, his eyes all-too-knowing. 

Minho looks up with another forced smile and blinks in mock confusion. He wishes the children would stop talking about Chan. It hurts too much. “Don’t believe what, dear?”

“About Chan.” 

“Oh! Chan!” He places his hands on the table. “Didn’t I tell you what his note said? Oh, I’m sure I did.” He swallows, rubbing at his chin and ignoring Seonghwa’s slightly pained expression. “He said he missed his life at the monastery too much. He had to leave us, and that’s all there is to it.”

Of course, the children don’t look convinced. Minho pointedly looks at the table instead, staring down the pitcher of pink lemonade as if he could pick a fight with it. He isn’t a fan of alcohol, so this will have to do as liquid courage. “I think I’m brave enough to try some of that.” 

“He didn’t even say goodbye,” Jisung says sadly as Seonghwa pours him a glass. 

“He did in his note.” 

Jisung stares him down. “That isn’t the same thing.” 

“Not too sweet, not too sour,” Seonghwa says, handing him his drink. 

Seokjin makes a face. “Just too, uh, pink.”

Minho and Seonghwa spare him a chuckle. 

“Father?” Jeongin asks, and continues when Minho gives him a noncommittal hum. “Who is our new governess going to be?” 

Ah, and there it is. 

Minho thinks back to last night, when he couldn’t take it anymore and had just given in. Clearly, Chan wasn’t going to come back, and so he’d asked Seonghwa to marry him. He’d tried not to think too much about how elated Seonghwa had clearly been, and how little his own emotions had mirrored it. He tries not to think about how it feels like he’s settling for the second best thing.

He glances at Seonghwa, and Seonghwa looks back, then down at the glass he’d quickly put down on the table. Minho slaps his hands down on the surface as he stands, gathering the scattered bits of himself. 

“Well,” he starts slowly, coming around to stand behind Seonghwa’s right shoulder. “You’re not going to have a new governess anymore.” 

The children all step toward him. “We’re not?” 

“No.” He places both his hands around the baron’s shoulders. “You’re going to have a new parent.” 

“A new parent?” It hurts that Changbin says it, because he’s the oldest and remembers their mother the most. 

“We talked about it last night,” Minho tells them, placing both his hands on Seonghwa’s right shoulder and feeling the baron’s hand come up to cover them. At least once he’s started, he can keep going. “It’s all settled, and we’re going to be very happy.” Maybe if he says it enough times, he’ll believe it too. 

After he and Seonghwa have smiled at each other, Minho gestures at the children to come over and kiss the baron’s cheek. The look Changbin gives him is so hurt and confused that he almost retracts his statement about the new addition to the family, but the teenager eventually comes over, the first to comply. The other children follow suit one by one until Felix lingers too long and Minho hurriedly tells them all to go play. 

The children dutifully follow Changbin out into the grounds, and Minho stares after them for a long moment before turning back to the pink lemonade. 

* * *

“Now,” Minho says, pacing toward the children. “It’s not like my children to be secretive.” 

It’s true. There’s something guilty in the lines of their faces, save for Changbin, who he’s slightly sad to find he can’t read. They’d been gone all afternoon, and it’s well past dinnertime. 

“We’re not being secretive, Father,” Jisung says. 

Minho pauses in his steps. “Mhm. And it’s not like my children to be late for dinner.” 

“We lost track of the time,” Hyunjin insists. 

The rest of the children chorus their agreement as Minho says, “Ah. I see.” He narrows his eyes at them, tone dropping all pretense. “Alright, now who’s going to be the first one to tell me the truth. Hyunjin? Seungmin? Changbin?” 

“Where do you think we were, Father?” Changbin has a mildly challenging look to his eyes, and when Minho starts to protest, Changbin tilts his head, giving him a meaningful look. 

Is that what this is about? Chan? 

Minho doesn’t think he could handle it if they confirm it, so he turns toward the water instead. 

“Well if you don’t believe us, you must have some idea of where you _think_ we were,” Changbin reasons, still that mulish stubbornness in his eyes. Minho really ought to give him more credit. 

There’s a giggle from Jeongin, and Minho chooses to whirl on him instead. “Aha! Jeongin.” 

“Yes, Father?” 

“You tell me.” 

Jeongin’s eyes flick toward Hyunjin, and he answers, “Hyunjin told you, Father. We were berry-picking.” 

“Ah, I forgot, you were _berry-picking!”_ Minho gives a show of clapping his hands together. The children start to enthusiastically agree, so he crouches in front of them, asking, “All afternoon?” 

“Mhm!”

“We picked thousands of them!”

“I got the most!”

“Thousands of them?” Minho pretends to be impressed. “What kind of berries?” 

Hyunjin speaks up for the rest of them again. “Uh, they were blueberries, sir.” 

“Blueberries!” Minho exclaims with the rest of their agreement. “Mmm!”

Dropping his act, he looks at them sternly. “It’s uh, too early for blueberries.” 

“Wait no,” Hyunjin tries desperately. “They were strawberries.” 

“Strawberries?”

“It’s been so cold lately they turned blue!” 

Minho would be a fool to miss how the rest of the children look mortified, some looking at the sky as if God could help them. 

“Aw,” he says with fake sympathy. “Very well. Show me the berries.” He stands and puts his hand out, palm up. 

“Uh—”

“Well—”

“We, uh—”

Minho raises an eyebrow, curling his fingers in anticipation. “Show me the berries, come on.” 

“We don’t have them anymore,” Felix offers. 

Leaning down toward him, Minho singsongs, “You don’t have them anymore? Well, what happened to them?”

Felix looks terrified. “We—”

“We ate them,” Seungmin interjects. 

“You ate them?” Minho gasps. “All of them?” 

The children are certainly hard nuts to crack, because they all start to agree at once. 

“Yeah!”

“They were delicious!” 

“Oh, they were so juicy.” 

Clapping his hands together, Minho straightens back to his full height. “Well, since you’ve obviously stuffed yourselves full of thousands of delicious berries, you can’t be hungry anymore, so I’ll just have to simply tell Herr Kang to, uh, skip your dinner!” 

He turns with a flourish, walking up the stone path to the veranda, and pauses to look back and chuckle at their dumbstruck faces before he goes inside. 

Once inside, though, he exhales, feeling all his energy drain. Slowly, he moves to a window and peeks through the curtains at the children outside. They seem listless, Felix sitting forlornly on a bench and staring at the grass as if he’ll start eating it with Hyunjin and Jeongin on the bench opposite. Seungmin stands next to Felix’s bench, hands fisted in his pockets, and Jisung and Changbin stand on the walkway between the benches, watching over the rest. 

After some talking, they start singing something that Minho can only hear faintly, but it sounds like the song that they’d been singing on that one stormy night, before he’d left for Vienna. He’d scolded Chan and the children that night. God, it feels so long ago. 

_Chan,_ he thinks desperately. _Can’t you see what you’re doing? We’re falling apart without you._

Jisung and Hyunjin are drifting again, and Changbin is desperately holding onto Jeongin as though he can singlehandedly hold them all together. It tears at Minho, and he squeezes his eyes shut because he can’t stand seeing his children in so much pain without knowing how to fix it. 

_Come back_ , he begs silently. 

When he opens his eyes again, it’s because the children have slowly stopped singing, looking at something to the left of the walkway. Then Jisung is running toward a figure walking through the grass, and collides with them in a hug, followed closely by Seungmin, then the others, one by one. It can only be one person who raises all their voices in song again and cups their faces affectionately and takes the little ones’ hands as they all huddle together happily right there in the middle of the garden. 

Minho’s heart stops in his chest. 

It’s Chan. 

He strikes up a conversation with them, turning to Felix, then to Jeongin’s bandaged finger, and talks to Changbin, but Minho’s heart is thundering in his chest, and he can’t wait a moment longer. 

He tries not to run as he makes his way outside, giving Chan some more time to talk to the kids. But as they’re telling him something and his face falls, it’s Seungmin who turns and notices Minho at the top of the stairs to the veranda. 

“Oh, Father, look!” he calls, expression lighting up in a way it hasn’t in what feels like years. “Chan’s here!” 

The rest of the children clamor about Chan as well, as if Minho doesn’t have eyes only for him already, as if the gaze between them isn’t as electric as it had been at that fateful party. But this time, Chan’s eyes are mournful and muted, and Minho hates to be the person he’s looking at like that. 

“Good evening, Captain,” Chan says softly. 

Minho wishes Chan would call him by his name. “Good evening,” he returns, bowing his head slightly. The children are still there, however, so he claps his hands. “Alright, everyone inside. Go and get your dinner.” 

They’re sufficiently distracted by the promise of food, and shout joyfully as they run inside. That leaves Chan, just Chan standing in the middle of the walkway with his hands clasped together and the water and the mountains behind him. 

And Minho wonders when he’d started loving Chan so much, so deeply. 

He starts down the steps slowly, as if going faster would scare Chan away, or make him disappear into thin air. It’s hard to get the words out. “You left without saying goodbye, even to the children.” He means for it to sound like an accusation, but it’s much too soft for that. 

There’s still that pinch between Chan’s eyebrows that Minho doesn’t like. “Well, it was wrong of me. Forgive me.” 

The words are out of Minho’s mouth before he can stop himself. “Why did you?” 

“Please don’t ask me,” Chan says immediately. “Anyway, the reason no longer exists.” 

Before he can even think about responding to that, Seonghwa’s voice calls out from behind him. “Chan, you’ve returned!” Minho tries not to be annoyed, even as Seonghwa takes his hand and holds it behind his own back so that they’re hip to hip. “Isn’t it wonderful, Minho?” 

Chan’s expression feels two seconds from crumbling, but to his credit, he says calmly, “May I wish you every happiness, Baron. And you too, Captain. The children tell me you’re to be married.” 

“Thank you, dear,” Seonghwa tells him, and it sounds genuine. 

Nodding a little, Chan moves to go past them and into the house, but a growing part of Minho can’t bear to see him walk away. “You are back to, uh, stay?” he calls hopefully, placing a foot on the next stair up. 

Chan pauses, and turns. “Only until arrangements can be made for a more permanent caretaker for the children,” he says carefully. 

His tone is final, and he walks into the house.

Minho feels that pang to his chest again, even when he turns and catches Seonghwa’s eyes, and takes his hand. It feels even more wrong, now, but he can’t back down on his word. 

* * *

The night sky is beautiful, but Minho doesn’t feel its pull as he usually does. Instead, he stands on the balcony to his room, hands on the railing, and watches yet another listless figure out on the grounds in front of the veranda. 

Chan seems to be as lost as Minho feels. Even though he’d established with himself that he loves Chan—that he’s _in love with_ Chan—the only conclusion he can draw from it is that the world is cruel for sending him Chan at this point in time. The glances they’ve shared, the moments where he can hardly breathe with all the emotions in his windpipe—they’re emotions he can’t tamp down, and he thinks (hopes) Chan cannot either. 

But that brings him, once again, to the million dollar question. 

“There you are!”

Seonghwa walks out onto the balcony, dressed in impeccable fashion as always, even in the late evening with nowhere to go. Minho spares him a glance, but doesn’t turn from the edge of the balcony for long. The baron is silent for a moment, and well, Chan is still in plain sight. Minho doesn’t need to say anything. 

“I really must speak to the cook about the _wiener schnitzel_ ,” Seonghwa says instead of choosing to focus on it. “It is entirely too delicious for my figure.” Minho only looks at him and nods along enough to show him he’s listening, but he continues. “And it makes you much too quiet at the dinner table. Or was it the wine?” 

“Oh, undoubtedly the wine,” Minho says, just to have something to say at all. 

Seonghwa makes a noise next to him that sounds almost affronted, and Minho sees his fingers flex against the balcony railing in his peripheral vision. “You have no idea what kind of trouble I’m having trying to decide what to give you as a wedding present.” It sounds like he’s just trying to fill the silence now. “Oh, I know, I’m enough” —he touches Minho’s arm to remind him yet again that he’s right there— “but I do want you to have some little trifle for the occasion. At first I thought of a fountain pen, but you’ve already got one.” 

As he speaks, Minho slowly straightens until he’s standing again. 

“A-And then I thought, maybe a villa in the south of France, but they are _so_ difficult to gift wrap. Minho, how do you feel about yachts? A long, sleek one for the Mediterranean, and…” He reaches out to trail his hand along Minho’s shoulder. “A tiny one for your bathtub, huh?” 

Minho chuckles without any humor in it. He’s tuned out most of what Seonghwa has said, but he finally turns to the other, the realization starting to hit him. “Seonghwa,” he starts, but the other is still talking. 

“And where to go on our honeymoon? Now that is a real problem.” Seonghwa’s hand settles more firmly on Minho’s arm. “I thought a trip around the world would be lovely. Then I said, ‘Oh, Seonghwa, there must be someplace better to go.’ But don’t worry, darling, I—”

“Seonghwa.”

Minho’s completely facing him now, his resolve solidified. He has to do this. He doesn’t want to hurt Seonghwa, but he has to come clean.

“Yes, Minho?” 

“It’s no use,” Minho says, shaking his head, and every word feels freeing. “You and I. I’m being dishonest to both of us, and utterly unfair to you.” 

Seonghwa closes his eyes and looks down, like he’d known this was coming. 

“When two people talk of marriage—”

“No, don’t.” Seonghwa is still looking at the ground. “Don’t say another word, Minho, please.” He finally lifts his gaze again. “You see, um, there are other things I’ve been thinking of.” He swallows. “Fond as I am of you, I really don’t think you’re the right man for me. You’re, um—You’re much too independent. And I—I need someone who needs me desperately.” He pauses and chuckles humorlessly. “Or at least needs my money desperately.” 

Minho just lets him run his course, watching silently. 

“I’ve enjoyed every moment we’ve had together,” Seonghwa says softly, his eyes glittering with unshed tears. “I do thank you for that.” He blinks furiously. “Now, um, if you’ll forgive me, I’ll go inside, pack my little bags, and return to Vienna, where I belong.” His gaze is far away as he turns it toward the grounds. “And somewhere out there is a young man who I think will never be a Brother.” 

Minho blinks, surprised, and Seonghwa just smiles. He steps in close, grasps Minho’s chin gently, and presses a lingering kiss to his cheek. 

“Auf Wiedersehen, darling.” 

It stings, but Minho thinks that perhaps everything will be alright. 

* * *

Minho finds Chan near the gazebo in the eastern part of the grounds, walking around a bench in front of it. Chan sits, elbows on his thighs, and that’s when Minho starts with a simple, “Hello.” 

Chan looks up, gripping the edges of the bench as Minho draws closer. 

“I thought I just might find you here,” Minho continues. He’s bad at this, but he’s determined to try. 

Slowly, Chan rises to his feet. “Was there something you wanted?” He sounds so small. 

“Hm?” Minho tries to swallow his surprise. “No, no, no, sit down, please.” He gestures to the bench and crosses over to it. “Uh, may I?” he asks, and when he gets no protest, sits on the opposite side of the bench, facing away from Chan. 

He purposely doesn’t look at Chan for a moment, gathering his courage. “You know,” he chuckles, “I was thinking and I was wondering two things.” He looks down at the grass. “Why did you run away to the monastery, and what was it that made you come back?” 

When he finally turns to look at Chan, Chan tears his gaze away. “Well, I—I had an obligation to fulfill, and I came to fulfill it.” 

“Hm.” Minho peers up at him through his lashes. “Is that all?” 

Chan frowns. “And I missed the children.” 

Minho is frowning as well, now. “Only the children?” 

“No,” Chan says immediately, then rushes to correct it. “Yes! Isn’t it right I should have missed them?” 

That’s not what Minho had meant to imply at all. “Oh, yes. Yes, of course. I was only hoping that perhaps you… Perhaps you might, uh…” 

“Yes?” 

Minho tries to force the words out, but they stick in his throat. “Well, uh—nothing was the same when you were away, and it’ll be all wrong again after you leave, and I just thought, uh, that perhaps you might change your mind?” 

He peeks over at Chan, who looks down, then gets up and moves in the other direction. “I’m sure the baron will be able to make things _fine_ for you.” 

It’s another step in the right direction, actually. Minho breathes a little easier. 

“Chan.” 

Chan stops. 

“There isn’t going to be any baron.” 

“There isn’t?” Chan doesn’t turn around. 

“No,” Minho says, getting to his feet and walking over to Chan. 

Chan looks up at him. “I don’t understand.” It sounds soft and like it doesn’t dare to hope. 

Minho starts walking, heading for the entrance to the gazebo with Chan following. “Well, we’ve um, called off our engagement, you see, and—”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” 

“Yes.” He pauses, letting Chan take another few steps. “You are?” 

Chan turns to face him in the entrance to the gazebo. “Mhm. You did?” Suddenly, he sounds surprised. 

“Yes.” Minho’s throat is dry. “Well,” he says, moving past Chan and into the interior. “You can’t marry someone when you’re…” His footsteps stop when his shoulder touches Chan’s opposite one, and he turns his head to look into Chan’s searching eyes. 

“In love with someone else,” he finishes. They’re so close, in the same position as when they’d danced together. “Can you?”

Chan’s eyes are deep and full of emotion, and he slowly shakes his head. 

It’s all the answer Minho needs. He doesn’t have to hold himself back this time, or anymore. Reaching out, he grasps Chan’s chin gently, and leans in—finally, finally letting their lips touch. 

The kiss tastes like all the slowly simmering feelings they’d been harboring for each other for months on end, and the insatiable need to make up for lost time. Still, it’s slow and tender and aching, as if they’re exploring each other for the first time without obligations and responsibilities holding them back. Minho doesn’t want to let him go when he pulls away slightly, so he kisses Chan’s forehead instead, and nuzzles against his cheek, and Chan wraps his arms solidly around Minho to burrow into his shoulder. 

It takes him a moment to register that Chan is speaking. “The Father Abbott always says, ‘When the Lord closes a door, somewhere he opens a window.’” 

Minho lifts his face so that he can cup it with his own hands, smooth his thumbs over smiling cheeks with their faces still close. The moonlight slants through the glass panes of the gazebo walls and washes Chan’s face in an ethereal glow. 

“What else does the Father Abbott say?” Minho asks, a smile tugging at his lips, because of course Chan would be the one to say that after kissing someone. 

Chan meets his gaze steadily though, voice barely above a whisper, and cups Minho’s face in his hands as well. “That you have to look for your life.”

“Is that why you came back?” Minho’s heart flutters, but he’s no longer scared of it. 

Silently, Chan nods. 

“And have you found it, Chan?” 

Chan’s eyes are luminous, even more so in the moonlight. “I think I have,” he whispers. “I know I have.” 

Minho can’t hold it in anymore. “I love you,” he says with conviction. 

Chan doesn’t seem to know how to answer, but that’s okay, because they easily fall back into each other, pressing kisses to each other’s foreheads and cheeks and smiles. 

Minho isn’t surprised when Chan starts singing.

_Perhaps I had a wicked childhood_

_Perhaps I had a miserable youth_

_But somewhere in my wicked, miserable past_

_There must have been a moment of truth_

Chan has pulled away to serenade him quietly, and he takes one of Minho’s hands in both of his own, lifting them so he can press a kiss to his fingers as he continues. 

_For here you are, standing there, loving me_

_Whether or not you should_

_So somewhere in my youth or childhood_

_I must have done something good_

_Nothing comes from nothing_

_Nothing ever could_

_So somewhere in my youth or childhood_

_I must have done something good_

Minho knows that Chan would never admit it, but all the things he’s seen Chan do are good. He’d been there for the children when Minho couldn’t be, he’d been there for Minho himself. He’d picked up the pieces of their broken household and sewn them back together when it had all felt most hopeless. 

“Do you know when I first started loving you?” Minho asks earnestly. Chan leads him a few steps backward, then stops. “That night at the dinner table when you sat on that ridiculous pinecone.” 

They’re holding both of each other’s hands now, and Minho starts to laugh.

“What?” Chan asks, but he’s laughing too. “I knew the first time you blew that silly whistle.” 

This time, it’s Minho’s emotions that are overwhelming, with the need to reciprocate all that Chan has done for him. So he sings, picking up where Chan had left off.

_For here you are standing there, loving me_

_Whether or not you should_

_So somewhere in my youth or childhood_

_I must have done something good_

They gravitate closer toward each other without letting go of their hands, until their chests are touching. Minho lets Chan kiss his forehead again.

_Nothing comes from nothing_

_Nothing ever could_

_So somewhere in my youth_

_Or childhood_

_I must have done something..._

_Something good_

By now, their breaths mingle with how close they’ve come again. Chan’s arms come up to wind around Minho’s neck, and Minho has no trepidation as he leans in. Their kiss this time is more languid, unhurried as though they have all the time in the world. 

“Chan,” Minho murmurs against his lips, feeling slightly dizzy with the scent of him. “Is there anyone I should go to to ask permission to marry you?” It’s more of a formality than anything, because he’s going to marry Chan anyway. 

Chan finally pulls away enough so that their noses brush but they’re free to talk. “Well, why don’t we ask…” 

“The children?” they finish together. 

It’s all the approval they’ll need. 

* * *

The day of their wedding dawns bright and beautiful, a warm spring day that smiles down upon them. 

Minho fiddles with the cap of his naval dress uniform, standing toward the front of the aisle with a few of his children behind him. Down at the entrance to the chapel, the Brothers usher Chan through the gates, and Minho forgets how to think. 

They’d decided that Chan would wear white to contrast Minho’s dark tones, and Minho thinks it’s fitting, Chan like the sun and him like the moon, day and night. He supposes that now, though, it’s more as though Chan is like the moon and he’s like the dark sky surrounding it. Chan walks down the aisle after Changbin and the little ones strewing flowers, and nothing about him would be flashy or conspicuous in another context, but he holds his head high, solemn and proud, and Minho thinks he’s never looked more gorgeous. 

Chan reaches out his hand for Minho’s as he draws closer, and Minho fights the urge to kiss it as he takes it with his fingers, the both of them smiling at each other with starry eyes. They move forward to kneel in front of the minister, and Minho reluctantly pries his eyes away. Later, he’ll get to kiss Chan slowly and properly, away from the eyes of the attendees, after all the food and champagne and dancing. 

He’d never thought that he could have this, have a chance at happiness at last, but it’s only one of the many things Chan has shown him, and he can’t wait for more. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading all the way through even though this is basically a ripoff. Catch me on twitter at @hiraethstill if you want to scream in general. 
> 
> Remember to support social justice, prevent COVID, and take care of yourself. Leave a comment and look out for more stuff from me coming soon.


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